by DC Brockwell
Kimiko continued the sponge bath, trying to make conversation with him.
He continued to stare up at the ceiling.
Kimiko, worried for Danny’s safety, did the only thing she could: prepare him.
A knock at the door signalled it was time for her to leave. When she opened it, an old woman entered, wearing a white robe.
“Hello, Danny,” said the old woman, ignoring her. “Fancy seeing you again.”
Kimiko smiled, wheeled her trolley out, and closed the door behind her, hoping that Danny could cope with the horrible smelly old woman…
National Crime Agency Officer Steven Dyer drove his unmarked Volvo XC90 a hundred metres behind his target, Lennox Garvey’s Mitsubishi Shogun. He’d been assigned to follow Rothstein’s number two as part of an ongoing investigation into Rothstein’s “businesses”.
“Target’s on the move,” Steven said into his microphone.
Steven had worked for the NCA since its creation in 2013, when he’d been TUPE’d from the Serious Organised Crime Agency, SOCA. He’d been with SOCA for six years in various capacities, and prior to that he’d been a police officer on the beat for ten years. As he was now thirty-four, he’d been involved in law enforcement in one form or another for his entire working career.
The agency was set up in 2013 as a non-ministerial government department, replacing the SOCA and incorporating the child exploitation and online protection centre, among others. It had a wide remit; as it tackled human, weapon, and drug trafficking as well as chasing cyber and economic criminals both nationally and internationally, it was the UK’s leading agency against organised crime. They worked in partnership with regional police forces, the probation service and CPS, Europol, Interpol, and others. The media had dubbed the NCA the UK’s FBI; Steven hated that.
He’d been seconded to the Organised Crime Command Unit two days earlier to help with the Rothstein operation. Prior to that, he had worked in the Missing Persons Unit and the Modern Slavery Human Trafficking Unit, so he had a wide range of experience within the agency. While he didn’t enjoy the intelligence gathering aspect of his job – such as following Lennox Garvey – Steven loved most of what he did.
This phase of the operation was to gather as much information as they could about their targets’ movements, including where they went and whom they met up with. It mainly involved either driving around or parking up and waiting. It was laborious, but a vital part of the NCA’s work. Steven had volunteered to babysit Garvey.
There were two other officers detailed with round-the-clock surveillance of Garvey, so at least he had help; they rotated in shifts of eight hours. They used different makes, models, and colours of cars to aid their concealment, and so far, none of them had been “made” – at least, as far as they could tell. Garvey seemed to be going about his business as usual.
He indicated right, then stopped at some traffic lights. Garvey was three cars ahead.
Being an NCA officer wasn’t so different from the work he did in SOCA; he didn’t really understand why they’d even created the NCA. They could have just kept the SOCA and extended its remit, but he didn’t care for internal politics. Some top dog had come up with the idea, and now they had the NCA with all its bells and whistles.
During his ten years as an officer, Steven had been involved in some high-profile operations, including helping to apprehend and convict the Cahill brothers, which was actually a network of career criminals who’d committed the biggest diamond heist in history; that case had taken years to complete, and God knew how many man hours of investigative work. Then there had been the Wolfgang Affair, a bribery case that had dragged on for years too. The way politicians behaved baffled him. He’d never much liked politicians anyway.
The operation that gave him the most pride, however, was when he’d helped to secure the conviction of a gang of paedophiles who had used the dark web to hide their nasty pastime. They’d infiltrated hundreds of video games consoles, pretending they were teenage girl players in order to lure unsuspecting young teenage boys to meet them in secluded spots. Once there, they would assault the boys, take pictures, and upload them onto their hidden website. When Steven and his team had helped convict all twenty-six paedophiles, there’d been a party at HQ.
Steven could feel his Glock 17 digging into his back, so he adjusted the belt holster and settled back into his seat. His unit was one of only three in the NCA licenced to carry firearms. He’d had to go through vigorous testing prior to being given the licence.
When the traffic lights turned green, he slowly accelerated, watching Garvey’s Shogun. Steven still had six hours left of his shift; it was going to be a slow and boring day.
He was looking forward to seeing his wife, Ashley, and their two children, Isabelle, eight, and Ben, six. The kids were at an age he enjoyed; they both had distinctive personalities. Isabelle was very self-assured and bossy, and Ben was a nutter – there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t try, which was why he’d had so many accidents. Ben had already broken his arm, so God only knew how many bones he’d break by the time he was an adult.
Steven smiled at the thought of his family. They brought him an immense amount of joy. He’d met Ashley back at college; they’d gone to different schools, but the college was the only higher education establishment around for miles. They’d met in their Sociology A Level class, and had smiled at each other across the room, a lot. They’d hit it off straight away, but it still took him a full academic year to ask her out, and on the last day of college in year one, she said yes. The next week they’d met in town and the rest was history.
The target indicated left.
Steven saw that Garvey was pulling into a petrol station, so instead of doing the same, he drove past and pulled up on the main road up ahead, behind a black BMW. “Lost visual on target. He pulled into a petrol station; I’ll have him in a minute.”
His radio crackled and a female voice acknowledged his transmission.
The Shogun drove past six minutes later, and after waiting for two cars to drive by, Steven pulled out. “I’ve acquired the target…”
23
“Hello, Danny. Fancy seeing you again.” The old woman dropped her robe, and Danny watched in horror as she stepped towards him. The closer she got, the more he could smell a pungent odour filling the room. Why was she so familiar with him? he wondered.
This was Beattie’s punishment, giving him the very worst of her clients. This woman was vile; she had grey stringy hair and a wrinkly face framing a set of yellow and black teeth. Her skin was like leather, probably from years of sunbathing.
Unable to stop her, she straddled him. He hesitated; he couldn’t quite place her face.
“You don’t recognise me, do you?” She looked down at him with a sly smile.
“I can’t place you, no.” He wrinkled his nose at the smell of rotting teeth; it was overpowering, noxious. He felt like gagging.
“You took me out on a date once.”
“I did?”
“Oh yeah, you did. I’m surprised you don’t remember me; most people do.”
It hit him like a baseball bat to the forehead. “Francesca!”
“Well done, darling.” She smiled. “I thought you’d forgotten me.”
A sudden feeling of hope engulfed him. Someone from the outside was here, someone he knew. He could feel the hope rising to the surface. “Please help me, Francesca! I’ve been kidnapped; I’m being held here, tied up… Please send the police around!”
Francesca smiled wider, and as fast as it had risen, the hope sank. “But you’re not here to help me, are you?”
“Just like you didn’t help me,” she replied, her face serious.
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I invite you into my home and you snubbed me. I was getting ready to fuck your brains out and you left me.”
Holy shit! He had to think this through. He could try lying his way out of this, he thought – he just had to be careful. “I had to
leave, Fran, I really did. My dad had a fall… I had to get to the hospital.”
“Liar!” she spat. “You said your mum had a fall! I knew you were lying when you ran out on me.”
He couldn’t remember what he’d said; he only remembered wanting to get the hell out of her house. He couldn’t sleep with her, not then. Not now. His skin crawled at hers touching his. “Mum, dad… I can’t remember which one. But one of them had a fall, honest.”
“They’re both dead, Danny, have been for a long time. Since you were sixteen, right?” she asked, her face red.
She surrendered him, stepping off the bed, her rank nakedness burning into his consciousness forever. He would never forget that, would never be able to unsee it.
“I asked around,” she hissed. “Do you know how that makes me feel? That you’d fuck all your other women, but not me?”
“I’m sorry, Fran,” he gasped, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“It’s too late for that,” she said, her tone calm again. “Karma’s a bitch, right?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you lie awake at night thinking how you got here? I bet you do, all chained up like that, women coming in here and using you.” She was proud of herself, her black teeth on display again. “Well wonder no more, Danny. I put you in here…”
Beattie entered the room and closed the door behind her. “We go way back, don’t we, Francesca?”
“Oh yes, darling,” agreed Francesca, putting a saggy arm around Beattie’s waist. “You see, Danny, I suggested you to Bea; I said you’d be the perfect bee for her hive.”
Beattie loved the look of shock that appeared on Danny’s face; it was priceless. “And you were right, of course,” she replied with a laugh.
Danny exploded with rage. His chains sprung to life, preventing him from acting on his impulses. Beattie knew that if he got free, Danny would probably end up killing her. Give it a week or more of gruelling punishment, she thought, safe with him in chains, and he’d adapt to life here. She had time to break him down – she had all the time in the world.
Although Beattie had known Francesca Belmont for ten years or so, she hated her. She hated everything about her: the smell, for starters; she also hated her mannerisms, her personality, everything. To her, Francesca was a vile woman; she wasn’t a lady. On the surface though, Beattie made sure to be a gracious and kind host, making Francesca feel extra special.
Francesca was married to a good and loyal friend of her father’s, Larry. Well, she used the term marriage loosely; Francesca was hardly ever indoors. She loved the pub scene and she often spent days away from home, getting drunk with friends. She had a massive drinking problem and a crippling gambling addiction.
Apparently, Larry had met Francesca as a prostitute on the streets, and what had started out as a business arrangement soon turned into true love and the couple married. The thought made Beattie want to vomit. Maybe she’d been prettier back then, because she couldn’t see anything decent about Francesca’s personality to make a lovely man like Larry want to marry this vile woman.
“I just thought you’d like to know who put you here.” Francesca laughed. “And you’re welcome, by the way!”
Beattie turned Francesca around and walked with her to the door.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I had a visitor round last night,” Francesca said.
“Oh really? Anyone nice?” Beattie asked, not interested.
“Oh no, not like that. Some snoopy bitch detective came around asking me questions about my relationship with Danny.”
Beattie froze as they reached the door. Danny had been missing for seventeen days, and ordinarily these investigations only lasted a couple before they were shelved. This bitch detective had been going for over a fortnight? That couldn’t happen. After this long in business, there was no way she was going to let it fall apart because of some nosy cop. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night?” Beattie asked.
“I thought I was coming here today anyway, not that I got anything out of him,” Francesca replied, glancing over her shoulder to get one last look at Danny.
“Don’t worry about that – I’ll reimburse you, of course. Now, tell me more about this detective.”
Francesca looked up at her. “She was about five-five, pretty, long dark hair, looked pretty fit. Indian, Pakistani maybe? If only I could remember her name… Began with an N… Nik… Na–”
“Nasreen,” she heard Danny say.
Beattie turned to find that Danny had calmed down enough to listen to them talk. And he had a strange smile on his face; he looked relieved. Anger swelled up in her gut. “Don’t go getting your hopes up, Danny. She won’t be finding us any time soon!”
She turned to Francesca. “Have you got a surname for this Nasreen? I need to find out more about her. Is she going to be a problem for us?”
Francesca thought for a moment. “There was something off about her. She came alone. I’ve been around pigs long enough to know that they never travel alone, always in pairs. And she came to my house late.”
In her experience that could mean only one thing: this Nasreen wasn’t looking for Danny in any official capacity; she was investigating in her own time. It was worse than she feared. “Surname, Francesca, what’s her surname?”
“Don’t get shitty with me!” Francesca snapped. “I can’t remember.”
Without waiting for the vile old lady’s memory to return, Beattie pointed at Danny. “What’s her surname?” He didn’t reply, just kept that stupid smile on his face. She stepped up to the bed and glared down at him. “What’s her fucking surname? Tell me, Danny, or I swear to God I’ll give you the worst two weeks of your fucking li–”
“Oh, wait, I’ve got her card in my bag,” Francesca interrupted.
A wave of relief swept over her. “Let’s go get it, then.”
Beattie walked up to Francesca, linked her arm through the old lady’s, and helped her walk to the shower rooms, where her clothes and bag were kept. She made Francesca bend down and rummage through her bag until she found the card.
Beattie looked down at it. “Nasreen Maqsood. You’ve been a busy little bee, haven’t you?” Beattie shook her head, smiling. “We’re going to have to fix that…”
Kimiko looked at the time: it was half an hour until Danny’s next customer was due.
She wheeled her trolley along the corridor, stopped at room two, and unlocked the door. When she pushed the trolley inside, she was surprised to find Danny looking up at the ceiling with a smile on his face. She’d expected him to be comatose. “Nearly time next customer.”
“Come on in, Kimiko,” he replied, pleased to see her.
They talked for twenty minutes while she bathed him, like before. Why was he so responsive to her? She didn’t understand. Only a couple of hours earlier, he had been in a deep depression. What could possibly have happened in that time? Whatever it was, she was glad to have him back.
Seconds before a knock came at the door, he whispered, “Come stay with me tonight.”
She hesitated. If she was honest with herself, she’d already thought about sneaking out after everyone had retired for the evening and going into his room. Now he was asking her to. “I like to, Danny, but Mrs Harrison no like it,” she replied, her voice almost a whisper. “It make her angry.” She looked down at his disappointed face. “Sorry!”
At four o’clock the inevitable knock came, and Kimiko wheeled her trolley over to the door, greeting Danny’s next customer with a polite bow. His client didn’t even acknowledge her; she stepped inside, dropped her robe on the floor, and straddled poor Danny.
Kimiko closed the door and wheeled the trolley back to the store area next to the shower rooms. As she did after every bed bath, she emptied the plastic basin of water down the sink and put all the dirty cloths and flannels in the laundry bin.
Poor Danny. Mrs Harrison was punishing him. It was then Kimiko realised how much she thought about him – it w
as all the time. She thought about him day and night. She had even thought about him the previous night, when she was under her duvet.
Mrs Harrison interrupted her daydream. “Kimiko, honey, can you come in the office, please?”
A sudden feeling of dread made her turn to Mrs Harrison with her head down. Kimiko walked into the office, expecting her employer to start shouting at her. She had obviously overheard her and Danny talking. “Yes, Bea?”
“Will you look up at me, please, Kimiko?”
Kimiko obeyed to find that her employer didn’t seem upset or angry; on the contrary, she looked – almost – happy. “Sorry, Bea.”
“We’ve got a New Bee coming in tonight.” Mrs Harrison smiled. “His name’s Thomas. Walter is bringing him in later, so I’ll need you to help me, okay?”
“Yes, Bea.”
As Kimiko walked back to the store area, she thought about Danny again. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. And now that she knew he wanted her too, it would only get worse. She had to shake this – no good would come of it. If Mrs Harrison ever found out how she felt about Danny, she would be so angry she’d punish her as well. Her employer had already warned her against getting involved with him.
Realistic. That’s what she had to be, realistic. Nothing would ever happen between her and Danny, it couldn’t. He was one of Bea’s Bees and she was a member of the support staff. It wasn’t like either she or Danny were ever going to leave this place alive, was it? Then again, if this was all they had, why shouldn’t they be together? What was so wrong with them sharing their love with one another?
24
Nasreen was excited about this meeting. Between an estate agent and a betting shop was a brown door. On the wall to her right was an intercom system. There were several buttons with business names written on them, and after finding the button for Gentlemen4U, she pressed it.
