Time to Play (North East Police)

by K. A. Richardson

  The force of the blow flung Elvie backwards and onto the mattress. Her face burned and she felt tears fill her eyes. No one had ever hit her before.

  ‘Maybe I’ll show you just how pissed off I am,’ growled the man, reaching to unbuckle the belt around his waist.

  ‘Gaz. Leave it.’ The warning came from the other man, the one holding Nita up. ‘Boss said no touching.’

  The man in front of her leaned forward until he was so close she could feel his breath on her lips. She couldn’t have moved if she tried, terror had her paralysed. What’s he going to do? Why did he unhook his belt?

  ‘One day, I’m going to have you. And fat boy over there ain’t gunna be here to stop me,’ he whispered.

  Elvie didn’t follow all of his words, but she understood the meaning.

  Her breath whooshed out as he stood and strode to the door, slamming it shut behind him with such force that it rattled the tiny window built into the roof. The lock clicked into place and Elvie was alone.

  It took a few minutes before she could move again, and she put her hand to her face. She winced as her fingers found the area he had struck her. It throbbed painfully and felt warm to the touch. Tears filled her eyes again but this time she fought them back. It was time to stop being a child. Crying was pointless. She needed to figure a way out of this room to start with and then she needed to get some help.

  But who will help me? The police? They’ll be the same here as they are at home, anything overlooked for the right price. Who will help me, Noni?

  Her brow furrowed in concentration as she considered what to do. If only Noni hadn’t died then none of this would be happening.

  Sitting back against the wall, she pulled her knees to her chest and hugged herself tightly. How will I get out of this?

  3rd November, 0005 hours – Wear Street, Sunderland

  Gaz and the other man, Danny, held Nita between them and made their way quickly from the van through the faded front door to the terraced house on Wear Street. Nobody would notice them, even if it was daylight; the area was rough and there was a code, a form of honour amongst those destined to live on the other side of the law. No one would tell, even if they knew what was happening inside the dingy house.

  They dragged Nita through the porch and into the hall. Wallpaper hung off the walls, peeling and damp-smelling. A small table had been placed at the foot of the stairs and a Filipino woman sat filing her nails. She glanced up as they approached.

  ‘Attic. Rocko want her there for training.’ She pointed towards the stairs, needle scars evident along the pale inside of her arm. If you looked closely you’d see the pin prick of her pupils; if she’d opened her mouth her teeth would have been discoloured and missing in places. She looked about fifty years old, but she was only twenty-one. She’d lived in houses like this one since she had been fourteen. Then, she hadn’t been allowed to leave. Now, she chose to stay because they fed her habit.

  Gaz and Danny pretty much carried Nita up the bare stairs to the room right at the top. The other doors in the house were all closed. Muffled sounds came from behind some of the doors. The rest were silent.

  The attic walls were covered in thick grey material, the kind used to soundproof music studios. There was a chair with straps on in the centre of the room, and a computer desk in the corner. A small unit was beside one wall, and it was stiflingly warm. The men dropped Nita onto the chair and Gaz applied the straps, then turned towards the man who was seated at the desk.

  Rocko.

  His very name brought about shivers of fear in the circles they ran. He was a hard-arse, took no shit from anyone, and was rumoured to have killed men just for looking at him wrong.

  ‘Is she ready for me?’ he asked, without turning around.

  ‘She’s still out cold,’ said Danny, suppressing a shudder. He hated what Rocko did in here, how he ‘taught’ the girls he was brought. His methods were hands on, and Danny had no inclination to stay. He’d stayed just once, and it was enough to make him sick to his stomach. He wouldn’t want to be the girl right now. Taking debts with the wrong people meant he had to transport the girls; that was his repayment. And it didn’t matter how far away he tried to run, there was always someone waiting to bring him back.

  Danny sighed and turned to leave.

  ‘You not gunna stay and watch? It cracks me up,’ Gaz nudged Danny in the ribs as he spoke, an evil leer passing over his face as he nodded towards Rocko.

  ‘No,’ said Danny curtly, leaving the room and clicking the door shut. His partner was a dick, a complete and utter jerk. Danny had to practically lift Gaz’s jaw off the floor every time they picked girls up, and every time he wanted to punch his lights out. The girls didn’t deserve the lives they were brought into the country to lead. But what could he do about it? He owed the bosses, and they knew everything about him.

  The last time he’d tried to leave the fold, they’d kidnapped his girlfriend. She’d been seven months pregnant at the time. They’d threatened to cut the baby out of her and put her to work in a house just like this one if he ever tried to leave again.

  So he stayed. Because he had to.

  Sighing again, he hung his head and made his way back outside to the van.

  3rd November, 0007 hours – Wear Street, Sunderland

  Back in the attic, Rocko finally looked up from his computer. ‘You staying?’ he asked Gaz who nodded silently. ‘Good, then wake the bitch up.’

  He watched as Gaz moved to the side of the bed and flattened his palm. It connected with the side of Nita’s face with a resounding slap, causing her to gasp in shock. As she saw the two men in the room, she opened her mouth to scream. Moving like lightening, Rocko put a hand over her face, squeezing hard.

  ‘One sound from you, bitch, and I will cut your tongue out.’

  There was no way Nita could understand his words, they were in English, but he saw the fearful acceptance in her eyes. Rocko eyed Gaz thoughtfully. One of the two delivery men would go far in the organisation, and Rocko knew it would be Gaz. It was obvious he got off on the pain, and they needed loyal people.

  Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to get started, Rocko said, ‘Hold her arm out for me. She needs her first dose of brown sugar.’ He checked the tension and deftly tied a piece of elastic round the top of her arm. ‘First we get her high, then she’ll start to learn the trade for which she has been employed.’ He pushed the needle into the vein in Nita’s arm, and loosened the elastic. Stepping back, he watched as her pupils dilated and her mind floated elsewhere.

  ‘Fill your boots,’ he said to Gaz, nodding towards Nita’s spaced-out body. ‘Nothing too kinky, and don’t mark her.’ Leaving Gaz in the attic, Rocko left the room. He wasn’t in the mood anyway; fucking the new girls was often best left to other staff. And he had several he knew would get the job done. He partook occasionally, but only with the extra special ones. The one’s that still had the spark of fight left in them. And they only came along once in a blue moon.

  He left the building by the back door, climbed into the red Shogun and left the alley with a squeal of rubber.

  Chapter Four

  3rd November, 0620 hours – Connor’s parent’s house, Sunderland

  ‘Come on, Mum. It’s time to get dressed then we’ll get you into your chair by the window and you can watch for the postman. You like that, don’t you?’ Connor spoke softly to his mum who was laid on the bed facing the window.

  His dad had called him in a panic saying she wouldn’t get up and she was having an episode. He’d cried on the phone, breaking Connor’s heart. And Connor, ever the dutiful son, had gone round to his parents’ to help.

  He sighed as he watched his mother turn her head towards him, suspicion in her eyes as she snapped, ‘Who are you? I’m not getting up and dressed in front of some stinking man I don’t even know, I’ll call my son, he’s a policeman you know. Now GET OUT!’

  Her shrill voice turned to a scream as she launched herself off the bed and went for his f
ace with her nails outstretched.

  ‘Mum, please. Stop. It’s me, it’s Connor.’

  He gripped her wrists less gently than he would have liked, knowing her to be stronger than her slim frame suggested.

  Eventually she stilled and her eyes cleared, gazing at him. ‘There’s my boy,’ she whispered, giving him a watery smile, ‘So grown up. Where’s your dress up box? Let’s see my handsome man in his police uniform.’

  Connor swallowed at the lump in his throat. His mum would jump from one memory to the next in the blink of an eye. Just once, he wished she’d jump back into the present.

  Without further incident, he managed to get her dressed and seated in her favourite armchair, which was inside the bay window of the front room. His feet heavy, he wandered into the kitchen to see his dad.

  ‘Sorry, Son, some days it’s all I can do not to walk out of that door. She hit me. She always has to hit me.’

  His father sounded so desperately sad as he rubbed his hand subconsciously over the bruise to his cheek.

  ‘Maybe it’s time to think about a home again, I mean she’s not getting any better, Dad, and –’

  ‘No. Whatever she did, she’s still my wife. In sickness and in health. That’s what I promised. She’ll be fine tomorrow.’

  Connor shook his head in frustration, ‘No she won’t. She’ll never be fine, Dad. There are homes where people are trained to take care of people as ill as she is, nice ones where she’d be looked after and –’

  ‘I said NO!’ shouted his dad, ‘And that’s the end of it. I will not put my wife in a damn home to rot away with people who don’t know her. Besides, Fred is coming round soon. She’s always better when Fred’s here.’

  Sadness threatened to overwhelm Connor. He hated seeing his mum this way, and hated how his dad refused to listen to reason. But while his mother was ill, his father certainly was not. It didn’t matter how many times Connor broached the subject of a home, the answer was always the same.

  Sighing, he said, ‘I’ve gotta get to work, Dad. I’ll see you soon, OK?’

  He saw his dad nod once, then Connor turned and left the room. He planted a kiss on his mother’s forehead as he walked past, and with his shoulders drooping, he made his way to the car.

  Life sucks.

  3rd November, 1410 hours – Sunderland City Police HQ

  ‘Damn and blasted file boxes in this day and age. I thought everything was supposed to be computerised,’ grumbled Ali as he carried three boxes, all balanced precariously one on top of the next. ‘Trust the maintenance men to take the lift offline today of all bloody days.’ He couldn’t even see over the top box, and made his way cautiously up the stairs, keeping his left shoulder to the wall to keep him steady.

  He made it to the top of the stairs without incident, and used his hip to wedge open the door to the corridor. A little wobbly, he managed to navigate through, though the top box was threatening to make the long jump to the carpeted floor. Feeling it start to slip, Ali jolted his body to the opposite side, hoping to right the balance. He had no way of seeing Marlo heading down the corridor, or the mobile phone in her hand that held her attention.

  The sudden impact was swift, and the top box fell to the ground with a clatter, spreading case files and crime scene photos across the carpet. The middle box teetered as Ali peered over the top and saw Marlo on the floor.

  ‘Shit, Marlo, are you OK?’ He put the other two boxes down and held out a hand to help her up.

  ‘Jesus, why don’t you watch where you’re going you clumsy –’ Ali watched as her cheeks grew pink and her blue eyes sparkled, initially angry but then easing off.

  ‘Sorry, I erm, wasn’t watching where I was going.’ He pulled his hand back as she hauled herself to her knees, ignoring him, and started scooping up his files. ‘I don’t know what order they were in but I’m sure you can put them right. That’s everything I think.’

  He grinned at her, somewhat amused as she haphazardly plonked everything inside the box and picked it up to hand it to him.

  ‘Actually, would you mind carrying it to the Major Incident Team office? I’d rather not have any more accidents.’ She nodded, and Ali turned and picked up the other two boxes. Making general conversation he added, ‘They’re files from a murder a few months back. We’ve had an enquiry from Hertfordshire Police about a rape with similar MO in their area. Might be the same guy.’

  His face took on a pained expression, but Marlo was in front of him and didn’t notice. ‘Ah, the one that got away. Bit of a mess that.’ She pushed open the office door and held it for him to pass through.

  Ali saw her shoulders tense as she said the second sentence, and intuitively knew she hadn’t meant it to sound so flippant. Even so, his reply was curt. ‘Just put the box on the table.’

  Without saying a word, Marlo put the box down and turned to leave. Ali felt like an idiot. Her lips were pursed as she strode past him into the corridor.

  ‘First class jerk,’ he muttered to himself as he watched her walk back into the corridor. He could almost hear his mother’s voice in his head, echoes of a conversation they’d had some weeks ago.

  ‘Ye need to learn not to take everything to heart. Ye’ll ne’er find a girl if you dinnut start accepting that not everything’s gunna go yer way, Son. Ye’re more like yer father than ye know. He held it all in, too, overreacted at wee things. His shoulders would’ve taken the weight of the world. As would yers. Let things go.’

  It had pleased him that she thought he was like his dad, even if she had meant the comments as a negative trait.

  ‘It’s why ye’re single,’ she’d said. ‘Women know when men are hiding somethin’. What happened up here wasnae’ yer fault.’

  ‘Nope, not going there, Mum. Get out of my head.’ Ali purposefully put his mother’s words to the back of his mind and turned his attention back to the file boxes. He had a job to do and brooding would not get it done.

  3rd November, 1415 hours – Sunderland City Police HQ

  Marlo had paused outside the MIT office door, listening as Ali had called her a jerk. She tried not to feel hurt. Maybe Connor was right; maybe Ali was a tosser. Or maybe it’s you. You did almost call him a clumsy oaf. He’s not exactly gunna thank you for it, is he?

  Huffing to herself, she made her way to the nearest stairs, and headed back down to the car park. Time to get back to the office. She still had her statement to finish up from the incident the day before. The rumour mill had already spread the word that it wasn’t thought to be murder. Grant’s ex-girlfriend had reported that he’d been to her house, got into an argument with her current boyfriend then smashed a window before running off through the woods opposite. The woods led straight to the River Wear, and it had been dark. The post mortem had been scheduled for that afternoon, so no doubt the dive team would hear the outcome through the grapevine.

  As she drove back to the dive centre, she let her mind wander to the training exercise that morning. The water had been brisk, and there was low visibility due to the weather churning the sea bed which had been an issue. She hadn’t even been able to see her hand in front of her mask. Connor had been stand-by diver, and Sharpie had sunk a reflective weight for her to recover. She’d used the jackstay search technique, a method of searching across a given line then a diagonal direction. It made for an efficient search and she had eventually pulled the weight to the surface. Methodically they’d worked through each team member diving and recovering until it had been time for Marlo to return to shore for the meeting.

  Turning the tunes on the radio up loud, she slowed down a little, and sang along to Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics. There was something about eighties music that called to her soul.

  3rd November, 1615 hours – Wear Street, Sunderland

  Nita couldn’t stop shaking. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She kept having flashbacks of bad things; things she didn’t want to believe could have happened to her. But she knew they had. Her dress had been torn, she
had bruising to the sides of her breasts and she had a burning sensation between her legs.

  She could only remember the person responsible as a monster. Whatever they’d injected into her had numbed any pain, but she remembered his eyes, dark like a sharks, as he grunted above her. She’d been floating on clouds, seeing things that couldn’t possibly be there but at the same time, she saw things she knew were real. Her sense of time had altered and it had felt like he had kept her pinned to the bed forever. He’d forced her to drink salt water, slapped her face and said something to her, ‘whore’ she thought it was, though she didn’t know what it meant.

  And now she’d been put in a different room. Another girl was laid on the bed next to her. Her eyes had rolled back in her head and there was vomit at the side of her mouth. It smelled like she had soiled herself and Nita crinkled her nose.

  She wished the shaking would stop. She yearned for something but it wasn’t food or water; she’d already eaten the sandwich that had been left for her. More bread. Didn’t they eat anything normal in this country? Wherever she was. She started to cry as memories of the evil shark filled her mind. Curling into a ball, she sobbed until there were no more tears. And even then she rocked, the movement oddly comforting to her. Nita wondered where Elvie was. Had the same thing happened to her friend? Was she even alive?

  Suddenly the door opened, and the evil shark entered. Shaking her head fast from side to side, she scooted to the back of the bed, praying if she pushed into the wall hard enough then she would go right through it.

  It didn’t work.

  She watched as he checked on the girl on the other bed, tilting her head sideways so she didn’t choke on her vomit. Slowly he turned back towards Nita, and her shakes turned to terrified shudders as the shark seemed to swim towards her.