by DC Brockwell
“You look knackered, Nas,” said Terrence, who, in contrast, looked full of energy.
“Thanks,” she said, closing down the page she was on. “I didn’t get much sleep last night; Mina’s full of cold, so I had her in with me.”
It was eight thirty, the day was young, and she felt like it was bedtime. She’d been in the office for an hour already and had drunk two cups of coffee. The only time she got to focus on finding Danny was either early in the morning, or after work. She’d opted for both, which was why her family life had been so badly affected.
“Looks like we’ve got another case,” said Terrence, switching on his computer. “Adams texted me this morning. Briefing’s in half an hour.”
She reopened the page, safe in the knowledge there was a partition separating her and her supervisor. She couldn’t risk him finding out she was still investigating Danny’s disappearance, even if it was out of hours.
Since her meeting with Theresa Gaffney, Nasreen had managed to find out a lot more about Frederick and Julian’s disappearances, and had even managed to discuss Frederick’s case with one of the detectives who’d handled it. According to Lambert, the detective involved, there was no evidence of foul play, and no evidence of any actual crime being committed. He and his partner had concluded, therefore, that Frederick had simply skipped town.
They’d interviewed neighbours of the victim, and they’d also interviewed people in the park near his home, showing them his photograph. Some had recognised him – they hadn’t seen him in the early hours of the morning. They’d spoken to a tramp who slept on a bench in the park, who’d drunkenly admitted to seeing two men attack Frederick and throw him in a van. The vagrant had been so drunk, however, that they’d dismissed him out of hand.
When Lambert had informed Nasreen of the tramp, she’d asked why they hadn’t followed up on it, the conversation soon becoming hostile when Lambert sensed she was questioning the quality of his work. Fortunately, she’d managed to calm him down; the last thing she wanted was for Lambert to speak to Adams about it. The investigation needed to be covert, at least until she had some form of solid proof she could take upstairs.
She’d visited the park after work, in the dark, and had tried to locate the tramp, however she’d come up short. Another vagrant informed her that the tramp she was looking for had died four years earlier, found on his bench, dead. So, her one good line of enquiry was a bust.
The fact that both Danny’s and Frederick’s disappearances involved two men and a van made her even more convinced they were connected, which got her thinking: if there were two that she knew of in this area, what were the odds there were more, further afield? And did this just involve male escorts? Or could it involve female escorts too? And why should it be just this area? Should she widen her search parameters? There were so many questions.
Over the last ten days, she’d used the PNC, the Police National Computer, to help her with her research, conducting searches for male escorts who had been abducted all over the country. She’d painstakingly sifted through mountains of paperwork and police reports in the lonely office, after everyone else had retired to their homes. There’d been over a hundred male and female escorts/prostitutes abducted/missing up and down the country over the last fifteen years, and she thought there would be even more if she went back further.
While sifting through the missing persons reports, she’d sorted the cases into possible and not probable, then she scanned through eyewitness testimonials, looking for any mention of a man or two men with a van. All in all, she’d found five cases that had the same MO, in addition to Danny’s and Frederick’s. So, she now had seven cases that she felt were all linked. The only problem was she had no proof, so she couldn’t go to Adams with it. Not yet.
She needed more. She’d phoned detectives who’d worked on three of the five new cases, speaking to the ones who were still on active duty. A detective on one of the five cases sounded genuinely sorry that they’d never found out what happened to the victim, a petite twenty-two-year-old prostitute with three children under the age of five. The detective had known the sex worker, had tried to help her; he’d told Nasreen that he felt guilty for not putting more time and energy into finding out what had happened to her.
She’d asked the detective about the white van and he’d informed her that a lorry driver had admitted to seeing something near a park. He’d seen two men acting suspiciously, carrying something large wrapped in a white sheet and throwing it in a van, but admitted it could just have been a roll of carpet. He’d only seen it from a distance.
Even if she showed the photographs of the driver and passenger of the van to the lorry driver, there would probably be no way he could positively identify either of the two men. Although it was a dead end, it would add weight to her theory, if proven correct.
After work that evening, she was lined up to meet with another eyewitness from one of the five new cases she’d found. This case happened locally, so she would only have to drive forty-five minutes out of her way to meet him. Having occurred in 2010, it was eight years old. She was hopeful about this one…
27
Opening the office door, Lennox greeted the white-haired man wearing civilian clothing: a pair of jeans, black shoes, a blue and red striped shirt, and a beige overcoat. He guessed the visitor was in his late fifties.
He showed the guest to a chair in front of Rothstein’s desk, and as the man sat down, Rothstein offered him a drink. The man refused.
“Let me give you my card,” said the man.
Lennox waited slightly behind his boss as Rothstein took the card and read it.
“Well, excuse me, Assistant Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis, Peter Franks,” exclaimed Rothstein. “Are you royalty round your way? Should I be bowing before you?”
“Something like that,” Franks replied. “I’ve been authorised to come here and make you an offer, Mr Rothstein.”
“You can call me Will,” Rothstein said.
“Okay, Will. Do you mind if we discuss this in private?”
Lennox’s boss looked over at him, giving him the signal to leave without saying a word.
Without hesitation, Lennox walked out of the office and closed the door behind him.
Earlier that morning, Rothstein had asked him to make sure the hidden camera was on for the meeting. He’d ensured it was, and he’d also ensured his uncle’s camera was switched on as well. He was interested to hear what the offer was.
Outside in the hallway, Lennox pulled out his mobile phone and accessed the covert camera’s app. A picture of the office quickly came up on his screen, and he could both see and hear the two men talking. He walked to the washroom at the end of the hall, closed the door and sat on the toilet seat, listening intently to his boss and the assistant commissioner.
“Good. Now we’re alone, we can really talk,” stated the senior policeman. “I understand from Zack Astor that he’s explained the situation to you, am I right?”
“I understand that you’re planning on legalising prohibited substances, yeah.”
“That’s an oversimplification, but not inaccurate. We’re changing the system for the better, Will. That’s how I see it. The system, the way it is right now, is rigged in favour of the drug dealers. That’s not fair on anyone – except criminal gangs – and we want to right that injustice.”
“Okay, but you being here means that you obviously believe I’m a part of that injustice,” Rothstein pointed out.
“Absolutely. I truly believe that. But there are a lucky few, like yourself, who we need to distribute it. It’s not like we’re going to be asking our bobbies to deal on the street, is it? So, we need dealers, but we need our own chosen few to be distributing narcotics of our choosing, drugs that we can source ourselves and make sure are pure and safe for the users. That’s our prime directive: to ensure that the population of users – if they’re going to use – have access to safe products, not this crap your colleagues sell. God only know
s what they mix in with it. It’s shit!”
Rothstein nodded. “I’m with you on that; most of the shit out there is tainted, mixed with baking powder and all sorts of other crap.”
“Exactly! Look, I’ll be honest with you – we don’t want to deal with you, but we need your expertise; you’re the last piece of a very complicated puzzle. We have all our dealers in place, ready to go, but we need a good low-key importer we can rely on to ship our products safely and on time. We need you, Will. That’s the God’s honest answer.”
“If I do it, do I get to choose the supplier?”
Franks shook his head. “We already have a supplier in mind – poised and ready to start – so no, your dealings with your current supplier will need to cease.”
“I’m afraid that presents a problem for me.”
The policeman shrugged. “It is what it is, Will. We can’t negotiate on this, I’m not permitted. Like I said, you’re the last piece of the puzzle, and changing suppliers isn’t an option.”
“I guess we have nothing to discuss then.”
“Wait,” Franks said, his hands out in a placating manner, “don’t cut your nose off to spite your face, Will. If I leave here with a ‘no’ from you – which I’m prepared to do – then we’ll approach your competitors. And since part of our deal with your colleagues is that they drip-feed us their competitors, how long do you think it’ll be before your rivals finger you? Please, think about this.”
“I have thought about it, and without my supplier, it’s a no,” Rothstein said firmly.
There was a long pause.
Then there was some shuffling.
Franks nodded. “And on that note, I thank you for your time. I’ll let my superiors know you’ve declined.”
“Like I said, if you accept my supplier, then we can have everything up and running as soon as you’re ready to go.”
“You know, I really thought you’d be smarter than this. We’re giving you the chance to import for a huge portion of the UK, a far greater area than you supply to right now. And you’ll be taking home your share of the profits without any risk. You’ll have a get-out-of-jail-free card, if you ever get picked up. You’ll be above the law, Will, how can you not want that?”
“To paraphrase you, it is what it is, Assistant Commissioner.”
Another pause.
“Well, okay… I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome! Oh, and Commissioner, you see that? That’s a camera filming you right now. If you think you’re just going to try to get rid of me because I refused your offer, think about the shitstorm I can bring down on you with that footage.”
The commissioner snorted. “Do you think we’re afraid of this coming out to the public? We’re going to leak it to the press when the time’s right anyway, and we have enough tangible evidence of the good it’s doing. None of us at the top – not my superiors, nor anyone at the Home Office or Department of Justice – will receive prison time for any of it. We’re all coming to the end of our careers now, so the most we’ll get is suspended or fired from our jobs. I’ve only got two more years until I retire. But we’re trying to leave behind a legacy, a better Britain. So, I have something on you, and you have something on me, and yada, yada, yada.”
“So long as we’re both on the same page.”
Another pause.
“Okay, I tried. Goodbye, Will. If you change your mind, you have my card.”
Lennox heard the policeman walk past the door, and after closing down the app, he sat back to think. It seemed Rothstein had more backbone than he’d given him credit for. Lennox had been so sure that, had the police said they had another supplier, Rothstein would have gone along with it.
He’d gained a lot of respect for Rothstein in that short trip to the toilet. He would deliver the good news to his uncle later…
28
Beattie walked into Danny’s room to find him dressed and lying on his bed. It was strange to see him wearing clothes; he’d spent the best part of a month naked and tied up. A couple of days earlier she’d seen enough of a change in her Star Bee to untie him. She still didn’t trust him – as usual, only time would tell if she’d be able to in the future.
She’d been getting daily updates about Nasreen Maqsood from Walter, who was tailing her day and night. Poor Walter was always the one she chose for these kinds of details; he was the only one she trusted. So far, Nasreen was no nearer to finding Danny than she was to finding Lord Lucan. If, however, Nasreen got any closer, she had contingency plans.
Her plan was to let Danny keep earning her lots of money, and in the meantime, she would watch him closely, and how he was with Kimiko. She trusted that she’d broken Kimiko down enough, but she still had her doubts about Danny.
“So, Star Bee, are you ready for your first client?”
He told her he had showered and that he would prepare in five minutes. Beattie nodded her approval at his answer. He wasn’t as cocky or self-assured as he’d been shortly after his arrival. Maybe he had adapted? The problem was, she couldn’t know for sure. Still, so long as he performed and kept her clients happy, that was all she cared about.
When she’d agreed to untie him, she’d told him that he’d be getting her best clients again, that he was her Lucky Bee. For just over a week, she had given him nothing but the worst. He’d been bitten, slapped, punched, kicked in the face, spanked, and urinated on. She did have some very odd clients – with strange, twisted fetishes – who paid her well, so who was she to judge?
For the past ten days it had been a mixed bunch. She’d had problems with staff; she had a New Bee – Thomas – who was busy adapting to his new life. She had Danny back, hopefully. The best part of the past ten days was the time she’d spent with Lennox; she was growing fonder of him by the day.
The previous night, he’d held her hand for longer than was necessary, and they welcomed each other with a kiss on both cheeks. She longed for him every night when she went to sleep, sometimes next to Alan, but mostly alone. It was so frustrating that she couldn’t act on her impulses, because given half a chance, she would have him – every last centimetre of him. All she could hope for was his company for half an hour while he counted the takings. That would have to do, for now.
When Kimiko came in to help Danny prepare, she wandered out of the room and along to room five, where Thomas was tied up. Peering through the peephole, she saw he was being prepared by Sofia – his assigned support worker – who was busy giving him a sponge bath and who would soon be working him up. His first client of the day was in half an hour.
With Alan away so much, Beattie was in charge of the whole operation, her Bees and his All-Stars. She’d thought about informing her father of Alan’s absences. After all, it wasn’t fair for her to have to cover for her husband so much. It was already a stressful business to run, always fraught with problems, and taking on Alan’s responsibilities just added to the pressure. Two days earlier a fight had broken out between two of Alan’s girls in the shower area, and it had taken three of her guards to pull them apart.
Satisfied that Danny and Thomas would be ready, she walked along the corridor to her office and closed the door. As she had a pounding headache, she took two paracetamols with the remainder of her tea.
Sitting back in her chair, she thought about seeing Lennox that night – he’d said he would be along as per usual. After a few moments she shook off her daydream and went back to her monitor…
Steven took a photograph of a thickly set man while he walked along the path to the barn. From his vantage point he couldn’t see the man’s face, but he took the photo anyway; he got the best shots when people came out of the barn and walked back to their cars.
Since he’d informed his superiors of what he’d found here, he’d been placed on surveillance duty. His bosses probably thought it was punishment for losing Garvey; the intel he’d managed to obtain from here was awesome – it was a who’s who of villain
y. They’d managed to film over a hundred criminals coming and going from the barn, probably more. Whatever was in that barn was big.
For most of the day there were around nineteen cars parked outside, and he’d counted that, on average, about nineteen people went into the barn an hour, generally coming out half an hour later. In terms of leads, he’d struck gold in finding this place.
In the office back at HQ, they had a dozen whiteboards full of photos he and his relief team had taken of these people. They had so many photographs, in fact, that the agency had had to purchase a dozen more boards. The sheer magnitude of this mystery was mind-blowing.
Without knowing what was so important about the barn, he and his team had floated numerous ideas about what was going on. The most widely believed idea was that it was used as a drug manufacturing plant and that these people were going in to buy the drugs they would later sell on; it seemed the most logical explanation.
They had found out that a man named Alan Harrison owned the property but looking into him had been tough. It hadn’t taken long, however, to uncover that he was Vice President of William Rothstein’s property development business. They’d also found out that Harrison had married Rothstein’s daughter, Beatrice Rothstein – now Harrison.
Steven had managed to shoot some fantastic photos of Beatrice. She was a looker, with long red hair and pale skin. Some of his colleagues took just a bit too long looking at her pictures, he noticed – she’d caused quite a stir with his team when he’d pinned her photos up on the board.
The team back at HQ had already started hauling the barn’s visitors in for interviews. The hope was that one or two of them would let slip what went on. So far, they had all remained tight-lipped. He found it interesting how many female visitors he’d filmed; it made him think they might be off base in their opinion it was a “meth lab”.
