Whispers in the Rigging

by steve higgs

I backed away a pace to give her room at the bar next to him. Basic was taller than me, though his height was a mystery as he never stood up straight. The young lady, in contrast was at least a foot shorter than him and she had on heels.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Jagjit whispered in my ear. I was just as mystified as he was. The lady had her purse in one hand and her other hand was on Basic’s arm as it rested on the bar. She was being tactile and playful.

  ‘I need to learn to play the air-guitar.’ It was the only answer I had for the magic trick unfolding in front of me.

  As the dutiful best man, I stayed until the very end and made sure I escorted Jagjit to his door, which is to say I paid for the taxi we were both in and had the driver wait in the road outside his parent’s house until he was safely inside. It was his last night living there, although in truth he had moved out a week ago to move in with Alice and moved back in to his parent’s place two days ago so he wouldn’t see the bride before the wedding. I hadn’t asked but it was probably something Alice had requested.

  It was 0043hrs when I wobbled ever so slightly over the threshold and into my house. The two wonderful dogs I live with came to greet me at the door, stretching and yawning themselves. My arrival would have woken them from a deep sleep on the sofa. They were pleased to see me and just as pleased to exit the house via the back door so they could water the garden and bark at imaginary creatures.

  I found enough energy to make overnight oats for the morning, fill a glass with water to take to bed and clean the scuzz of the day from my teeth before I flopped weary and happy into bed.

  I drifted into a contented sleep, but I wouldn’t have if I had known what was happening at the Dockyard.

  Rude Awakening. Thursday, November 24th 0800hrs

  I was woken by the muffled sound of my phone ringing. I had forgotten to switch it to silent, but when I saw the time, I ruefully acknowledged that it was time to get up anyway.

  I had a faint buzzing at the back of my skull when I sat up, the barest trace of a hangover which might have been far worse had I not stayed off the alcohol until we reached the pub after dinner and then bought myself a bottle of water every third drink. Most of the chaps had taken today off and were at the wedding tomorrow so had attacked the bar with abandon. I would be suffering had I attempted the same.

  The phone was inside a sock. How it got there would be one of those mysteries one never solves. The missed call was from Alan Page and I had three missed calls from Joseph plus two text messages.

  I called Alan first. ‘Good morning, Alan.’ I said as he answered the phone.

  ‘Mr. Michaels there has been another development.’

  I sat up sharply. ‘Another death?’

  ‘No. Not that I am aware of. I always get here for about half past seven in the morning. Me and a few of the other boys use the time before we start at nine for a bit of practice. Anyway, we usually see the two Daves and recently we have been making a deliberate habit of meeting up. They are coming off shift as they finish at eight and we are all just arriving.’ I waited patiently for him to arrive at the point. ‘They weren’t here this morning. Neither one of them and I checked the log; they both started their shift last night.’

  A sense of dread was settling in my gut. My gut that was still bruised as a reminder of the violence the Ukrainians were willing to perpetrate.

  ‘Have you tried calling them?’

  ‘Of course. Neither one is answering their phones. I can’t leave now that I am here, but I was hoping you could go to their houses and check if they are there. Maybe they got fired or something.’

  I had Alan give me the phone number and address for Dave McKinnon as I already knew where Dave Saunders lived and told him I would make it my first task.

  Then I called Joseph. While I was in the bar last night, he had been acting the role of Ukrainian cleaner to poke about and see what he could learn from the other cleaners. I wasn’t sure there was anything to learn from them, but he would be able to glean what information they did have far more easily than Big Ben and me.

  He didn’t answer his phone though, it went to voicemail instead. Rather than leave a message, I checked the text he sent.

  My heart plummeted as I read it.

  I think I have found the entrance to the underground. There are stone steps leading down into the dark. I cannot raise you, so I am proceeding. I will send you video footage of what I find.

  I clicked on the second text message. Sure enough, it was video footage. The forty-two second clip started playing, displaying the shaky hand-held image one always gets. It was dark, but I could make out what appeared to be a damp and curving wall.

  An underground tunnel.

  The camera advanced a couple of feet, the picture then showing the view around a corner. A large room came into focus. Soft overhead lights provided illumination, the cables to power them draped loosely across the floor. What I could instantly see was perhaps two dozen people operating machines and boxes upon boxes of branded cigarettes. The quality of the picture was too indistinct to make out the faces of any of the people. It was evidence though.

  ‘Tell me how you got in.’ I pleaded, my voice a quiet hiss as if any noise I made might be heard by the people in the video.

  The clip ended.

  Dammit.

  I tried calling him again. I had told him not to do anything alone. Still no answer.

  Three men missing. The Daves might be at home asleep having finished early or something but it felt like a hopeful stretch. My money was on the Ukrainians having done something with them.

  Swearing under my breath, I sent CI Quinn the message containing the video clip and called him. After weeks of trying to get to him through the main switchboard at Maidstone police station or having to go there in person, I now had his mobile number. I got it more than two weeks ago when I was setting up the stag party but hadn’t realised who the Ian in question was.

  ‘Chief Inspector Quinn.’ He answered.

  ‘Ian it’s Tempest. I just sent you a video clip. Young Joseph has… is not answering his phone. Have you heard from him?’ I picked my words carefully, not wanting to say that he had gone missing because I didn’t not know that to be the case.

  ‘I have not heard from him.’ He said slowly. ‘Are you saying he is missing?’

  ‘He reported that he had found the entrance to the underground system I told you about. Against my advice he went in by himself, the clip is from him and shows the underground facility at the Dockyard and the illegal manufacture of counterfeit cigarettes. I haven’t heard from him since. Whether he has switched his phone off and is still sneaking about or has been discovered, I cannot say.’

  ‘So where is the entrance that he found?’

  ‘He didn’t say. Check the video.’ I was unhappy about admitting how little I knew, even though Joseph wasn’t my charge or my responsibility, I still felt I had a duty to keep him safe.

  ‘Wait please.’ I waited while he watched the clip. ‘The footage could be taken anywhere.’ He concluded.

  He was right but would have to be a moron to believe it was anywhere other than below the Dockyard.

  ‘He didn’t… Hold on, where are you?’ CI Quinn asked.

  ‘At home. I just got up. Also, I should tell you that my father woke up yesterday. He remembers only vague details about the person that attacked him, I think I know who it is, the same person oversaw a beating for me on Tuesday, but a positive ID will not be possible.’

  ‘Nor helpful.’ He agreed. ‘I need the whole gang, not some lesser minion. If you still don’t know the way into whatever might be beneath the Dockyard, then there is little I can do at this time.’

  ‘Your man might be missing Quinn. At what point do you organise a rescue? When his body turns up? Or shall we move before that?’ I was pushing him to do more than he was willing to.

  ‘Mr Michaels.’ We were back on last name terms it seemed. ‘Thus far the only reason my man is even there is due to hearsa
y on your part. I have taken a leap of faith because I will reluctantly admit that you have a knack for being right. I have no evidence though. Nothing I can reliably use.’ He added when he heard me begin to protest. ‘What you have sent me is not proof that there is a base of criminal operations beneath the Dockyard. It is not sufficient to justify deploying more resources. Even if I wanted to raid the place, I would never be able to get the Superintendent to endorse it.’ It was the first time I had ever heard him refer to someone superior as if it pained him to not be ruler of the universe. ‘No, I’m sorry, Mr Michaels. My hands are tied for now.’

  ‘Until I risk my life to break in to the criminal’s base of ops and deliver you a risk-free excuse to do your job?’ I snapped in response. ‘What will your excuse be when they fish Joseph’s body from the river later?’ I pressed the red button to disconnect the call, once again at loggerheads with the Chief Inspector. Our truce had not lasted long.

  I frowned as I organised my thoughts. The bottom line was that I needed to act soon. Really soon. The two Daves were missing, as was detective sergeant Kushnir and no one was going to help them unless I did. There was a chance they didn’t need rescuing, but I wasn’t prepared to take that chance.

  I got off the bed and started moving. I needed a shower, but it could wait. I made do with some deodorant and aftershave, even though I didn’t shave, and a quick brush of my teeth.

  I yelled, ‘Come on, dogs.’ Along the corridor to rouse them. As usual they ignored me, content and warm in the duvet. With some exaggerated stomping to get to the bedroom, I scooped them, one under each arm and took them downstairs to start their day as well. Of course, their day consisted mostly of sleeping anyway so I could never understand why they resisted their few chances for activity so much.

  I called Jane. I figured she would be on her way to the office by now. It was 0831hrs and as it turned out she had already arrived.

  ‘Everything alright?’ I asked when she answered in a tone that suggested it was not.

  ‘Yup. It’s just really freezing this morning.’ I looked out my window. There was a slight frost. Civilians tended to exaggerate about the cold. I kept quiet about it, but in my head, I acknowledged that they had no idea what cold was. Jane fell firmly into that subset, although she has so little body fat and was so slight that perhaps she felt it more keenly than most.

  ‘Jane, I need you to check a few things this morning. I might not make it to the office at all today, but I also might be able to wrap up the Dockyard case and get back to paid cases.’

  ‘Okay, Boss. What do you need?’ I relayed my requests to her, laying out what I knew and what I suspected and what I specifically wanted her to look for. ‘You’re not in tomorrow either are you? It’s your friend’s wedding, right?’

  ‘That’s right.’ I had almost forgotten. What I believed I needed to do today had no guaranteed end time on it, which might make tomorrow a little problematic. I had no intention of being late for the wedding but equally I wasn’t going to leave men in harm’s way either. First, I had to establish that they were in harm’s way, of course.

  We ended the call and as Jane got to work on the latest problem, I went out the door. Sliding into my car, I thought about something that had been niggling away at me since Monday. Something I had seen that didn’t add up. I still wasn’t sure what it meant, but if I looked at it from a certain perspective, a lot of what was confusing me about the Dockyard suddenly made sense.

  My plan to quickly check on the two Daves proved to be less swift than I had hoped. Traffic through the Medway towns is awful between 0700hrs and 1000hrs every day. School run mums and people going to work clog the main arteries, so my short trip back to Dave Saunder’s place in Gillingham took almost an hour and was bumper to bumper almost the whole way.

  He still wasn’t answering the phone and he didn’t respond to my thumping on the door either. A neighbour came out of her house two doors down.

  When she saw me, she said, ‘His car’s not here.’ As she checked up and down the road.

  ‘What does he drive please?’ I asked. If I could find it still parked at the Dockyard it would provide a clear indication that he had arrived at work last night and never left.

  ‘A tatty old, grey Honda Civic with one blue wing.’ She had her keys in her hand and was getting into her car whether I had more questions or not. I thanked her and turned back to my car as she peeled away from the kerb.

  The natural route out of Gillingham took me back to the Dockyard. I was following his neighbour most of the way, her eyes flicking to her rear-view mirror constantly once she saw me behind her. Her paranoia that I was some nutter finally relieved when I took the Dockyard turning.

  As I went through the gate to the carpark, Jane called. It was a short conversation in which I mostly listened, and she relayed information to me that confirmed what I had thought likely to be true. It was 1002hrs when I pulled on my handbrake and got out of my car. There were coaches in the carpark already and a stream of recently arrived schoolchildren making their way across to the entrance. Otherwise the carpark was mostly empty, and it was easy to spot the car Dave’s neighbour had described.

  It was parked on the far right-hand side of the carpark against a hedge with a number of other cars. The concentration of cars in one area made it look like this was where the staff had elected, or perhaps were instructed to park. Whatever the case, his car was still here so he had not left last night.

  It was evidence enough to convince me that he, and by association, the other Dave, had meet with an unfortunate situation. What that meant exactly, I had no idea, but it wasn’t good. If they were being held here, they were not necessarily dead but the longer I took to find them, the greater the likelihood they would meet with an unfortunate end.

  I was ill-prepared, but I was going in anyway.

  I locked my car, pulled out my phone and called Big Ben.

  ‘Hey, buddy. What’s happening?’

  ‘The Daves are missing.’ I included both even though I hadn’t confirmed anything regarding Dave McKinnon. If he was home safely sleeping in his bed it made no difference to my need to find Dave Saunders, or Joseph for that matter.

  ‘What’s our play?’ It was a simple question that meant everything in one go. He was in no matter what, by my side until we won even though he had no idea what we were getting into.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ I asked. I knew what he would say, because it was what I would say too. I had to provide an exit option though.

  He said, ‘There are some Ukrainians I owe a slap. I would hate to miss my chance.’

  Okay then. I had the vaguest sense of a plan.

  ‘Is that it?’ He asked when I finished outlining it to him. ‘That’s your plan.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘It’s a little thin mate.’

  He wasn’t wrong. There was a piece of the case that didn’t add up. It had been bugging me since Monday although I had only realised what it was this morning. Now that Jane had confirmed it, I wanted to test a theory.

  I would be right or wrong.

  ‘What if you are wrong?’ He asked.

  It was a valid concern. ‘Then I am in trouble.’

  ‘Oh. Well, you’ve thought about it then. For the record, I don’t think this is a good idea.’

  ‘Neither do I. If you come up with an alternative plan, please let me hear it.’

  ‘How soon are you going in?’

  That was the question. If I waited for other playing pieces to reach their position on the board, I risked whatever fate might be in store for the two Daves and Joseph to reach its appointed time. Time was not my friend. Besides, my plan had a distinct chance of failing two minutes after I started so I would be looking for a new plan anyway.

  I shrugged. ‘Right now, mate.’

  He was silent at the other end for a while. When he spoke, he said, ‘I’ll get my gear on. I’ll see you later.’

  As I walked to the Dockyard visitors
’ entrance, I sent one final message and wished I had put better shoes on. My brown leather dress shoes matched my outfit, completing the smart but casual office look I generally went with. As I paid a Ukrainian lady the daily entrance fee and pushed through the barrier under the watchful gaze of a Ukrainian security guard, I considered that the outfit might very well prove to be inappropriate.

  My first task was to see Alex Jordan. He wanted evidence and I was going to give it to him.

  Alex Jordan’s Office. Thursday, November 24th 1128hrs

  I had to go through the lengthy process of going to the Admiral’s building to have them call through to his office with a request that he see me. I then had to wait because he was busy in a meeting of some kind so that by the time I got called forward to go upstairs to see him, I had lost almost an hour and knew that I could have spent the time doing something more constructive.

  As I jogged up the stairs, it was concern for the missing men that motivated me. Alex Jordan could make the call that would get the police here. His authority to raid his own facility would remove the hesitation CI Quinn currently felt.

  That was what I was about to propose anyway.

  Andriy Janiv met me at the door to Alex Jordan’s office. He was wearing a different suit to that which he had been wearing the last time I had seen him. Like Danylo Vakhno’s, it had to be hand-cut in order to fit his enormous frame. What it told me was that there was no shortage of money going around the Ukrainians if a personal assistant could afford multiple hand-made suits.

  ‘Mr. Michaels, so good to see you again. Mr Jordan is expecting you, please go straight through.’ He led me through the outer office where his desk was located and held the door open to let me into Alex’s private office.

  ‘Thank you.’ I said as I passed him.

  ‘Mr. Michaels.’ Once again, Alex Jordan crossed the room to greet me and shake my hand. Behind me Andriy closed the door, shutting himself outside. With my hand still in his, Alex leaned in close to whisper, ‘Do you have something for me?’