by Rachel Lynch
‘One more job before bedtime,’ he said, handing Darren a bottle. Darren threw back his head and gulped. At least the liquor eased the noises in his head. He wondered what kind of report Sasha would give to his father. Maybe he’d say he showed potential.
The drive to a desolate stretch of the shores of Rydal Water didn’t take long, and there was a small boat waiting for them. They loaded the girl into it, and Darren rowed as Sasha attached the chains.
Darren looked to the sky, and in a tiny moment of lucidity, he appreciated the quietness and the stars. He felt different. The boat broke the smooth surface of the lake, and the moon’s reflection rippled black and white.
Sasha motioned him to stop, and the two men heaved the chained package over the side. The boat swayed and tipped and Darren sat down. Soon the swirl of bubbles stopped, and Sasha was satisfied.
Darren Beckett knew that his life now belonged to Marko.
Chapter 24
Kelly stood in front of the whiteboard in the incident room at Eden House. The photo of Anushka Ivanov stared down at her, alongside several other images of girls taken from the USBs found in Colin Day’s office. Presumably they’d all been recorded by him. From various tell-tale signs such as the writing paper on the table, the uniform furniture and the twee artwork, it had been ascertained that they’d all been filmed in hotel rooms.
Kelly had left her mother in hospital, stable and comfortable. Her sister had overreacted, as always. Elevated blood pressure, alongside palpitations, was being investigated and there was little she could do. Perhaps she should suggest her mother move in with Nikki for a while, as she herself was so wrapped up in cases. Of course, Nikki would see it as an excuse not to pull her weight, but Kelly had gone beyond caring what her sister thought of her.
‘We need names for these faces. We also need to find out if they’re legal or not. I want every member of staff in all seven of Colin Day’s hotels interviewed. Have we managed to get hold of Mrs Joliffe yet?’
The answer was negative, and it was becoming suspicious.
‘We also found the addresses of various lodges and holiday homes that we need to look at. What were they being used for? Are we just scratching the surface here? DS Umshaw, did you contact other forces to see if any investigation like this one is ongoing?’
‘Yes, guv. It’s a no. There are similar investigations at any given time, but no links to hotels or addresses on our turf.’
‘Thanks. DC Phillips, how’s the paper trail going?’
‘The bank accounts show large amounts of money moving between various personal accounts and offshore businesses. We have the Tomb Day transactions, plus income from his other hotel interests. It seems at first glance – I’ve spent only two days on it with two accountants – that Colin Day was bringing in around half a million a year on top of his legitimate salary and pension from the tanning salons, but there’s another thing: the salons are making around double what you’d expect from businesses that size in those locations. The sums don’t add up.’
‘Which is his main bank account?’
‘We haven’t worked that out yet, guv. But a lot of money goes through the Onchan Island Bank in the Isle of Man. Some of it gets ploughed into his personal expenditure and some gets shifted on to other accounts in the names of his various hotels and businesses, but one of the accountants pointed out that, so far, his calculations on income and expenditure don’t match. There’s extra cash coming from an unknown source.’
‘What about his property dealing? Or the art? That can involve huge sums. Westmorland confirmed that he sold a house in Windermere through them recently. Do we know what Connor Temple is?’
‘It’s a speedboat company, based in Workington Port. But even with the art and property deals, the figures don’t work. We’re missing something.’
‘And most of it goes through Tomb Day,’ Kelly concluded. ‘It’s only the tanning salon money that goes straight in and out of UK bank accounts.’
‘Why can’t we trace Tomb Day?’
‘Day’s accounts are frankly erratic, and the accountants reckon he must either be financially ignorant or doing it on purpose to create confusion. There was one thing that stuck in my mind, though, that I think you should know. There are large payments from Tomb Day to a local haulage company here in Penrith. Crawley Haulage.’
The name struck a chord with Kelly, and she paused. Surely not. She fiddled with her ponytail.
‘DC Hide, mobile phones? Any attempt to contact?’
‘We’re due a list of contacts from both phones this afternoon, guv.’
‘What about Mr Day’s will?’
‘Everything left to the wife.’
‘Did we get an accountant’s name?’
‘Yes, guv. Chase and Chase, Workington.’
‘Chase? That’s funny. Has it been traced?’
‘Yes, guv. It was sold back in 1998 to the current firm by Harry Chase.’
‘Harry Chase from Merseyside? My Harry Chase from the Lottie Davis case?’
The room fell silent.
‘Who owns the accountancy firm now?’
‘We haven’t found that out yet, guv.’
Kelly tapped her lip with her pen.
‘So, we have groups of girls appearing to be on the game. We have large payments to and from an offshore company, and a haulage company is somehow involved. Can we check out the possibility of smuggling – perhaps money-laundering of some kind? Keep ploughing on. The answer is in those accounts. My immediate concern, though, is the other girls. Where are they? Are they being held against their will? Anushka Ivanov was working at a local guest house, so you’d think that if she was in that situation, she’d have mentioned it to someone there.’
‘Unless she was too scared to.’
‘Exactly. I want to know who she was working for, and we need to find out where she was living when she disappeared. I need boots on the ground in Ambleside talking to anyone in and around those hotels. Someone somewhere has to know what’s really going on. If anything illegal is happening, I want to get warrants to shut them down, but you know what it’s like – I need solid evidence. We haven’t got enough yet. I think it’s time the press saw a photo of Anushka Ivanov. Hide, can you follow the Chase transaction, I want to know why he sold it, if he really sold it, and his involvement. I never knew he had an accountancy firm in Workington.’
‘Yes, guv.’
Kelly wrapped up the meeting and called HQ at Carleton Hall to see if her boss, DCI Cane, would give her any more resources. She didn’t want to come across as the cowboy from the big smoke who suddenly unearthed a massive operation in the Lakes that no one else had picked up on, but equally, she couldn’t ignore the facts. The Home Office knew that operations like this were more prevalent in the provinces, thanks to the abundance of places to hide. And sleepy villages like Ambleside in the heart of the Lakes were perfect. Cane agreed to transfer some resources from South Lakes, as Ambleside nestled in between the two areas, and Kelly was thankful that she’d already introduced herself to Lockwood. A quick phone call to him reassured her that South Lakes would be happy to help. He also informed her that he was due to chase down Wade Maddox later on.
After a long afternoon of paperwork, dead ends and phone calls, Kelly completed her update of HOLMES and decided to pluck up the courage to ask Johnny out for a pint. His phone went to voicemail and she casually left a message saying she’d be in the Red Lion at Pooley Bridge. She felt herself unwind as she drove towards the shores of Ullswater and parked up outside the pub.
The town was fairly quiet, with only a few tourists wandering around the gift shops or having a well-earned pint after a day of sightseeing or walking. Kelly didn’t like to drink in Penrith, and came here whenever she sought peace and quiet. It was where she’d met Johnny the other night. Maybe she’d look at property here.
She was standing outside smoking a cigarette when her phone buzzed. It was Johnny: he could make it by eight p.m. A gang of young men w
alked towards her and one asked for a light. She offered her lighter, reflecting on the fact that so few young people smoked these days. When she’d been at uni, everyone had smoked; in bars, clubs, restaurants, and even outside lectures. But now it was like a curse. The younger generation seemed much more sensible, and when she sneaked a very rare fag nowadays, she felt guilty.
‘Thanks. You all on your own, love?’ he asked, lighting up and sucking hard.
Kelly was taken aback by his bravado. Funny, a young man addressing her as ‘love’; it was so dated and reminded her how far away from London she was. She found it amusing, though, and decided to play along.
‘And what if I am? Are you going to rescue me?’ she teased. He must have been only twenty, twenty-one at a pinch.
His mates prodded one another and sniggered. Kelly straightened and smiled, holding his gaze. He faltered.
‘So where shall we go, because I don’t know about you, but I could do with a man, you know?’ She winked and blew smoke seductively. The boy swallowed hard and his mates fell about laughing, in turns taunting him and whistling at Kelly. She stubbed out her cigarette and ran her fingers through her hair.
‘Kelly Porter!’
The boy swung around to where the voice had come from. Kelly’s eyes lit up.
‘Flash! What the hell! You scared these poor boys,’ she said, nodding at the gang, who by now were reconsidering their options.
Paul ‘Flash’ Gordon approached the boy who’d fancied his chances with Kelly, and the lad laughed nervously.
‘All right, Flash, don’t scare him. I see you’re still throwing your weight around,’ Kelly said.
The boys retreated quietly and made their way up the main road, and Kelly turned her attention to her old school pal.
‘God, Kel, you’ve looked after yourself, girl. Look at you!’ said Flash. He stood back to admire the view and Kelly rolled her eyes. He was with a mate and it took her a moment to recognise him.
‘Dave?’ Surely it couldn’t be.
‘Hi, Kelly, you look fantastic. I thought you went to London?’
‘I did; it didn’t work out. I’m working in Penrith now and it’s good to be back,’ she lied, wondering if she sounded convincing.
‘So how are you?’ Dave asked.
She studied him. When he’d been the love of her life, he’d been athletic, square-jawed, quick-witted and smouldering, or so she remembered. The man standing in front of her now was quiet, shy almost, apologetic and earnest. He’d shrunk; not in stature, but in personality. His eyes lacked life and his belly pushed against his shirt. He blushed, and Kelly felt sympathy, an emotion not usually associated with lust. Flash stood back and gave them a moment.
‘So what are you up to now?’ she asked, not quite wanting to know the answer. A cherished and pleasant memory was crumbling before her eyes.
‘Oh, I still work for Dad.’
Kelly’s gut tensed. ‘Right. Married?’ She already knew the answer. Nikki had enjoyed informing her sister that Dave had shacked up with one of her friends.
‘Er, yes, Katy Paterson.’ He looked down.
‘Kids?’ Kelly felt sorry for Dave: Katy was a first-class bitch, and it was clear that she had sucked the life out of him.
‘Yeah.’ His face lit up. ‘Josh is ten and Courtney is seven.’ He searched his phone and showed her pictures. The children were cute. Like Dave had once been.
‘What about you, Kelly?’
‘No, I’m not married, and no kids either. I, er…’ She struggled for anything else to say.
‘Are you going in here, Kel?’ asked Flash.
‘I am, yes. I’m meeting a friend,’ she said.
‘Come on then, we’ll buy you a drink to say welcome home,’ Flash insisted.
After a few minutes chatting with her old friends, Kelly realised that it felt good to be with familiar faces. There was something safe about stepping back in time rather than having to constantly forge ahead. Flash hadn’t changed and fooled around like he always had, but Dave was quiet. He’d just begun to open up when Johnny walked in, and Kelly beckoned him over.
‘Johnny! These are some of the reprobates I went to school with. Flash and Dave, meet Johnny.’
Johnny held out his hand and the three men exchanged pleasantries. Dave retreated back into himself and Flash downed his pint and suggested it was time to move on. They said their goodbyes and Kelly watched them go. She wondered if Dave had wanted to leave because of Johnny’s presence, but he had his own life now; surely he didn’t still have feelings for her.
Johnny wore a baggy red jumper that hung off his broad shoulders, rolled-up cargo pants and flip-flops. His manner was as unfazed as his dress. His hair was too long for an ex-army officer and tinged with the sun. Something stirred inside Kelly and she wondered why it had taken her so long to pick up the phone.
‘So, I can’t leave you alone for a minute, Kelly Porter. I need to be more careful,’ he said.
Kelly smiled at him, ‘I can look after myself.’
‘I know you can, I’ve no doubt about that.’
‘It’s good to see you. Have you been busy?’ she asked.
‘Manic at work, but I also went down to Manchester to see my daughter.’
Kelly didn’t say anything.
‘Josie’s almost twelve.’
‘So you were married?’
‘Yup. I wouldn’t recommend it. Can I get you another drink?’
Kelly was relieved at the change of subject. They took their drinks to a table and sat down.
‘You look gorgeous, by the way,’ he said.
‘Thank you. It’s actually been a shit day.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Work. I’m stuck on a few things. Also my mum went into hospital.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘Yes, she’s fine. My sister rang an ambulance because she was having a massive panic attack. Her blood pressure is sky high, and they did an ECG and it’s abnormal, so they’re monitoring her. Sorry, I’m just knackered.’
‘It’s good to moan, it puts everything into perspective. And it’s also good to relax. Shall we order some food?’ he suggested. ‘Or we could get a takeaway and take it to mine.’
Kelly had planned to get a cab home, but now she realised that she wanted nothing more than to fall into this man’s bed, and this time know where she was when she woke up.
‘Let’s go.’ Johnny took her hand and led her out of the crowded bar.
As they walked towards one of the few takeaway joints in the tiny village, he put his arm around her shoulders. It felt good. She tried to clear her mind and enjoy the moment, but it was always hard for her to unwind. It was especially hard after seeing Dave. She was glad to have bumped into him and Flash, but it also brought back painful memories of the boy she’d once adored. And there was something else, too. Something Phillips had said this afternoon. Dave had told her he still worked for his dad, and Kelly had been thrown. Not just by the fact that he had never moved on, but also because Dave Crawley, of Crawley Haulage, had just been thrust back onto her radar for more than a catch-up.
Chapter 25
DI Lockwood drove along Dalton Road and turned off towards Barrow Island, passing identical rows of run-down flats that had been built for Scottish and Irish immigrant workers during the nineteenth century.
Lockwood had spent a lot of time on Barrow Island. It was bullshit what the government said about crime; they tried to insinuate that initiatives and handouts could change the culture of criminality in these places, but that was just politics. The fact was that economic status was directly proportionate to felony, and that was true the world over.
Wade Maddox was a twenty-five-year-old pain in the arse. Lockwood had gone to school with his dad; Bagger Maddox had been the sort of boy who started fights, picked on the remedial kids and put frogs and beetles in the girls’ bags. He was no bright spark and had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time during a robbery that had turned into ma
nslaughter. It didn’t matter that his previous record had always been minor stuff; he’d chosen the wrong job and been sent down for fifteen years. Of course a middle-class kid with good lawyers would have gone down for two, but Bagger Maddox wasn’t that kid. He came from Barrow Island.
Wade never stood a chance with a dad like that. He got into trouble at school, in the pub, and pretty much everywhere he went. Lockwood had escorted him home on many occasions, but he hadn’t seen him around for a few years. Now he’d turned up with a group of young men who’d made their home in a flat on Barrow Island. Lockwood didn’t really care what went on in the flat, just as long as they didn’t hurt anyone. Sometimes gangs of lads could be hounded by the police until they were driven further and further into serious crime. Lockwood believed in cutting them some slack if they were doing no harm.
He parked his vehicle outside the flats. He was here to find out if Wade Maddox knew anything about the disappearance of young Lottie Davis, and if he did, he’d wring his neck. He wanted answers for DI Kelly Porter. He had respect for a fellow officer who’d done time on a force in one of the UK’s major cities, and Kelly Porter had balls, he could see that. It hadn’t gone completely unnoticed that she was also easy on the eye, but he could forget about that: those days were over. Besides, she was too young. She probably had some guy at home ten years his junior who could keep up with her.
He straightened his tie and knocked on the door of the flat. After a long wait, it was opened slowly by a kid whose face was covered in spots typical of substance abuse, though that wasn’t Lockwood’s concern today.
‘Afternoon, pal. I’m looking for Wade Maddox. I’ve got nothing to say to the rest of you. It’s just Wade I need to see.’ He waited.
‘Who are you?’ The lad wasn’t stupid. Just wasted.
‘Detective Inspector Lockwood. He knows me.’
The boy’s eyes widened, as Lockwood knew they would.
‘Like I said, I’m not interested in anybody else, lad, just Wade. I need to speak to him.’
