“Next time you’re in my part of town, CC, I’ll buy you that lunch I’ve been promising you.”
CC smiled. “I won’t hold my breath. I’ve heard that offer so many times and I’m still hungry.”
Gazmend turned to Paolo. “I’m sorry to interrupt your day, but could I have a word with you?”
“Sure. Come through to my office. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you. CC has force fed me so many cups my veins are running on pure caffeine.”
Paolo gestured for Gazmend to go ahead and followed him into his office.
“Take a seat,” Paolo said, closing the door to give them some privacy. “What can I do for you?”
Gazmend waited until Paolo had sat down before answering. “I’m not really sure how to put my question, to be honest.”
Paolo kept quiet. He didn’t want to put words into Gazmend’s mouth. The silence stretched out between them.
“Am I no longer involved with the child trafficking case?” Gazmend asked eventually.
“You are, but I’ve also brought in an additional interpreter.”
“May I ask why? Are you not happy with the way I handled things? I thought you trusted me.”
Paolo hesitated. “What makes you ask that? I was expecting you to ask me if I thought your skills were lacking, or some other aspect of your service.”
Gazmend shrugged. “I know my language skills are good. Better than good. I’ve lived here most of my life, so I’m not likely to make mistakes when interpreting. I’ve been helping out the police for years now, but suddenly you bring in someone new. To my mind, it can only be a matter of trust.” He looked down at his hands, then looked up and smiled ruefully. “I assumed it was because you suspect my cousin of involvement and wondered if I would pass on evidence against him if any of the girls named him.”
“We do think Jeton might be involved, but I didn’t side-line you because I didn’t trust you. There were two reasons for bringing in another person. Firstly, I felt it was important that the girls were able to communicate with a woman.”
“But my wife is the one who talks to the girls! I only go with her because I am accredited and she is not.”
“Yes, I know, but as I said, there were two reasons. The second, and more important, reason was to avoid putting you in the position where you, or your wife, would have to give information that might lead to your cousin’s arrest. We were trying to save your feelings, rather than not trusting you to do the right thing.”
“Ah, I hadn’t thought of it from that angle,” Gazmend said. “And have any of the girls spoken out against Jeton?”
Paolo smiled. “Now, you know I can’t answer that.”
Gazmend laughed. “And yet, if I’d been the one doing the interpreting, I would have known the answer.” He suddenly looked serious. “I don’t know where he is. Just in case you think I’m covering up for him. I want you to know. I have no idea where he’s hiding or if he’s even still in the country.”
“I believe you,” Paolo said, “but if he should get in touch…”
Gazmend nodded. “Yes, of course, I’ll let you know.” He stood up and moved towards the door. “Oh, one last thing. I received a phone call from the orphanage in Albania whose children my charity gives cultural trips to. May I ask why you’re investigating my charity if you have no reason to distrust me?”
“We have to follow up all leads. It was possible that someone in your charity was using it as a means of bringing the girls into the country.”
“I thought it might be something like that,” Gazmend said. “The orphanage people were horrified to think you might put a stop to the culture trips.”
Paolo shook his head. “Even if it were in my power to do so, which it isn’t, why would I want to prevent children in care getting some enjoyment from life?”
“That’s what I told them,” Gazmend said. “Will you be using my services on other crimes? Or am I now of no further use to you?”
Paolo smiled. “I’m hoping the Albanian crime situation will resolve itself when we get to the bottom of the trafficking ring, but I’d like to be able to call on you, if needed.”
Gazmend opened the door. “For the sake of my community, I hope I’m not needed,” he said. He waved farewell and left, closing the door behind him.
Paolo sat, mulling over the turn of events. Once again, there was something that nagged at the back of his mind, but what was it? He went through each snippet of conversation. What had today’s chat achieved for Gazmend? Was he just trying to find out what Paolo knew? Or was he genuinely concerned that he’d been pushed out?
The niggles were growing. Paolo picked up the phone. He’d put a watch on Gazmend. Even though there was nothing concrete to suggest he was involved, there was something not quite right. At the very least, he might know where Jeton was hiding. That denial, distancing himself from his cousin, was a little too pat.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
29th November
Paolo drummed his fingers on his desk in frustration. He couldn’t believe it had taken nine days to find the pizza van, but it had finally turned up. Not that it was any use to them. It had been discovered, burnt out, on waste ground near a fly tipping site. If the council hadn’t decided to clean up the site and put a fence round it, the van might have remained there forever.
And that wasn’t the only reason for his irritation. The surveillance on Gazmend had revealed precisely nothing. He hadn’t met with anyone he shouldn’t, hadn’t made any suspicious moves. In short, he was so squeaky clean Paolo wondered if Gazmend had realised he was being watched. He shook his head. There was no reason to suspect the interpreter, apart from a feeling that he was not as clean cut and honest as he’d always appeared.
The internal enquiry on the press leak had also, apparently, led nowhere. The reporter refused to reveal his source and swore no money had changed hands. Paolo was still inclined to believe George was behind the leak, but unless evidence came to light, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He’d virtually frozen George out of the investigation, not wanting to take a chance on more evidence being shared with the press.
He frowned as he glanced at today’s headline. Mrs Baxter was dominating the front page yet again claiming Pete had killed himself as a direct result of police harassment. And even his death wasn’t as clear cut as Paolo would have liked. Barbara’s report gave cause of death as an overdose, but she was unable to say one way or the other whether it had been self-inflicted, or assisted. Paolo would have put money on the latter, but without proof, there was nothing he could do about it. Who would want Pete Carson dead? Apart from the girls he’d abused, of course. The answer had to be the unknown Joey. When the news broke at the press conference, Pete must have become a liability which had to be dealt with. Why else would a bogus pizza van come to call just before Pete died?
Feeling as if he’d reached dead-ends on every avenue, he was about to go in search of Dave to go yet again to question the various Albanian business owners, when George tapped on his door.
“Can I come in? Or are you busy?”
Paolo gestured towards a chair. “What can I do for you?”
George carefully closed the door before coming over to the desk and sitting down. He looked haggard and ill at ease.
“I…er…I need your help, sir.”
“In what way? If I can help you, I will,” Paolo said.
“The…er…the inquiry about…you know…um…”
“The inquiry into the press leak?” Paolo asked.
“Yes,” George said. “You won’t have been told yet, but…er…I think…that is…someone is going to…the money’s been traced.”
“George, are you telling me you took money to leak to the press? Is that it?”
Paolo looked in disbelief as George nodded.
“And you want me to help you? How?”
“You could say you gave me the go-ahead to give the leak.”
“What? Are you mad?
Why would I do such a thing?”
“Look, sir. I’m going to lose my job, my pension. I might even end up inside. Please, you’ve got to help me.”
Paolo shook his head. “I won’t lie for you. If it comes to it, I’ll speak up for you, but I won’t lie.”
“You would if it was for one of your favourites.”
Paolo banged his fist on the desk. “Oh, for God’s sake, George, give it a rest! I don’t have favourites, but even if I did, anyone who sold out our investigation in the way you did would deserve whatever came their way.”
George shuddered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I came in here to ask for your help, not to get into a fight with you. You do have favourites, though. You’ve always overlooked me when it comes to the best jobs.”
“Are you implying it was my fault you went to the press?”
George’s shrug said more than any words could have done and Paolo felt his temper rising.
“Dave and CC get to go out with you…”
“That’s enough! You spout the same words over and over, George. Even if you have been overlooked, and that is most definitely not the case, do you really feel that jeopardising our investigation was the way to get even?”
“I didn’t do it to get even.”
“No, sorry, I forgot. You did it for the money. The only reason you’ve come in here today is to try to cover yourself because you know you’re about to get found out. Well, I’m sorry, but don’t expect me to help you on this. I can’t trust you anymore.”
George stood up and leaned forward, giving Paolo the impression he’d like to climb on the desk to get even closer.
“You never did trust me. If you had, I wouldn’t have gone to the press. And I didn’t do it just for the money. I did it because you were too bloody timid to do what needed to be done to put a stop to bloody Pete Carson’s perversions.”
“You’ve left me with no choice. I have to report this conversation. You realise that, don’t you?”
“What do I care? I’m screwed anyway and you’re to blame.”
“Gather your stuff and go home, George. I’ll do my best for you when the hearing takes place, but…”
“I’ll do my best for you,” George repeated, mimicking Paolo’s voice.
He moved away from the desk and turned towards the door. Paolo watched him. Did he have a genuine grievance? George wasn’t good with people, which was the main reason Paolo hadn’t taken him out on interviews – and he was incredibly good at fact finding. On the other hand, Paolo had known George felt undervalued. Clearly he hadn’t done enough to change that conviction.
“George,” he called.
Turning back, George sneered. “Don’t bother. Whatever you’ve got to say, it’s too late and I couldn’t give a shit.”
As the door slammed, Paolo wondered if any others on his team felt overlooked. Sighing, he put George and the inevitable consequences to one side. He had work to get on with.
By the time evening came, Paolo was glad to get home and shut his front door on the events of the day. His team had watched in silence as George emptied his desk. No one had asked why, but it seemed they had all come to the same conclusion, because none of them spoke up as George left. Paolo had gone out afterwards and brought them up to speed on the basic facts. He’d been surprised by the lack of response, expecting people to exclaim as if they couldn’t believe it, but not one word of shock had been expressed.
Paolo shrugged off his jacket, pulled a can of cool drink from the fridge and settled down to watch the news. Sometimes he wished he didn’t have to put himself through the daily diet of death and destruction, but keeping up to date with events was part and parcel of his job. He took in the world events with only half his mind. The other replayed over and over every aspect of what he knew about Joey.
Part of him was convinced Gazmend’s charity was involved, but every inquiry down that road led to another dead-end. The girls arrived, the girls went home. What was he missing? Maybe he was looking for clues that didn’t exist.
World events over, the programme switched to UK news and Paolo was saddened to see yet another appeal on behalf of young Lucy. Even though the coverage of her disappearance never left the headlines, no lead had yet produced a concrete piece of evidence.
Paolo couldn’t help wondering how different Lucy’s life would be from now on, even if she were found. It was the same for the Albanian girls who were shipped to the UK. They would lead such different lives to the ones they should have had; they’d become different adults to the ones they should have grown into.
He stood up to get another cool drink. As he walked into his kitchen, the refrain, different lives, different girls, beat like a tattoo in his head. He opened the fridge and an idea came to him with the blast of cold air.
What if? He shut the fridge door, all thoughts of another drink forgotten, and rushed to pick up his phone. Dave had said he was going to work late, bringing his reports up to date. He answered on the first ring.
“Are you still at the station, Dave?”
“Yes, sir. I’m leaving in about ten minutes. You need me to do something?”
“I want to run an idea past you.”
“Fire away.”
“Gazmend’s charity brings Albanian kids over on a culture trip and then they go home again, but what if the girls who leave are not the same ones who arrived? What if he’s sending home different girls?”
“But why, sir? What would he gain from that? Besides, we know Joey keeps the kids and puts them out on the streets when they are too old for the paedos.”
“Bear with me for a moment. What if little Lucy and who knows how many other girls who have gone missing this year have been taken for a specific purpose?”
“Well, obviously they have been,” Dave said. “Lucy’s probably been taken by some pervert who got his kicks and then killed her. That’s why there’s been no sign of her since she disappeared.”
Paolo sighed. “I know. That could well be the case and that’s what the press are saying, but what if she hasn’t been found because she is no longer in the country? What if she was sent to Albania in place of one of the kids the charity brought over here?”
“Bloody hell, I hope you’re wrong, sir.”
“So do I, Dave, but I have a really strong feeling that I’m right. When is the next culture trip due to arrive? George had the notes on his desk. Can you go and have a look?”
Paolo waited, more and more convinced he was right as he listened to the sounds of paper being rustled.
“Found it!” Dave said. “They are due to arrive in Leicester on December the eighth and leave again on December the twelfth.”
“Excellent,” Paolo said. “I’m going to arrange one of our photographers to take some surveillance images. I want photos of each girl as she arrives. I bet the same girls aren’t on the coach when it’s time to go home again.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
12th December
Paolo listened intently, thanked the caller and then slipped the phone back into his pocket. Turning to Dave, he nodded.
“That was CC. The coach should be here in about twenty minutes. She’s still on its tail and it doesn’t appear as if the driver has any suspicion he’s being followed.”
Paolo looked at the line of police cars waiting to move out on to the motorway to form a road block. He wanted to make sure the coach had gone beyond all possible escape exits before setting it up. He had another group of cars waiting for the coach to pass the exit before this one. As soon as they saw CC’s car, they’d follow behind her, effectively blocking any chance of the coach reversing back to an exit when the driver realised he was heading into a roadblock. His phone rang again.
“Storey.”
“CC here, sir. I’ve just passed the turn off and the unmarked cars have come on behind me.”
“Great,” he said, ending the call and signalling to the drivers to take up their positions.
“Do you still think
they’ve switched the kids, sir?” Dave asked.
A hollow pit opened in Paolo’s stomach at the thought that he might be wrong. If he was right, he was saving kidnapped kids from being shipped abroad and possibly saving the girls brought into the country from entering the sex trade here. If he was wrong, his job was on the line. He’d had to force the idea through against some strenuous opposition from upstairs. With no evidence and only a hunch to go on, it was made really clear that any fall out would be down to him and him alone. He’d considered the two possible outcomes and decided the chance of saving children from a life as sex slaves far outweighed any risk to his career.
Traffic had crawled to a trickle as the police on the roadblock allowed vehicles through. In the distance, Paolo could see the bus stuck firmly within the line of cars and lorries. Even without the police cars behind, the exit was blocked, but Paolo was glad he hadn't left anything to chance.
Eventually, the bus came level with the roadblock and Paolo walked over to the driver’s side. He indicated with sign language that the driver should follow the police car in front. The driver nodded and moved his bus off the motorway. Paolo jumped into Dave’s car and they trailed behind, leaving the roadblock to be removed and traffic returned to normal. The bus was led into the car park of the motorway services and immediately surrounded by cars.
Paolo’s heart was beating fast as he approached the stationary coach. This was where he found out if his hunch had been a good one. The driver opened the doors and Paolo climbed the steps, signalling to a uniformed officer to take the driver outside.
The bus was completely silent. None of the young passengers were awake, which was surprising considering the flashing lights and noise levels outside.
“I think they’re drugged,” Paolo said.
He pulled a page of images from a file and compared the passengers to the photographs the surveillance team had taken when the coach first arrived. Five of the sleeping girls were very similar in colouring and build, but not exact matches. His heart jumped when he realised one of them was Lucy Bassington. Maybe it was her colouring that had kept her from being shipped out sooner. She was the only fair haired child on the bus. The Bassingtons were going to be very relieved parents tonight, but what of the other four who clearly didn’t belong? Where were their parents and why hadn’t there been news of their disappearance? They were questions to be answered later. For now, the children’s welfare had to take priority.
Someday Never Comes (#2 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series) Page 24
