Turn to Dust

by Amphlett, Rachel

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Soon after she first turned up here. She wouldn’t talk about it after that.’

  ‘You’ve been a great help, thanks Jeremy,’ said Gavin, and slid a business card across the desk. ‘Do me a favour? Let me know if you see Shelley again, or know where we might find her.’

  ‘She in trouble?’ The man flicked the card between his fingers.

  ‘Not with us. We’re trying to protect her.’

  ‘All right, then I will.’

  ‘Thanks. And if you need anything, phone that number. I’ll see what I can do.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Kay ran her eye over the weary expressions on her team’s faces, and vowed to keep the briefing as short as possible.

  Attention spans were beginning to wane, and she knew from experience that it was vital to maintain their energy and focus. Mistakes would happen otherwise. Small errors, perhaps, here and there, but a vital lead could be missed if she wasn’t careful.

  ‘You know, if my old form teacher at school could see your faces, he’d have you all doing star jumps,’ she said as she reached the front of the room.

  A ripple of polite laughter filled the space, and she smiled. ‘Let’s get down to business, then. Barnes – how did you get on this morning with Stephen Halsmith?’

  The detective sergeant pushed back his chair, buttoning his jacket as he stood. ‘Halsmith positively identified our victim as Ethan Archer. He also provided me with a few names of places – shelters, drop-in centres and the like – that he remembers Ethan visiting from time to time before he disappeared. I’m working my way through that list to find out which ones are still open, and whether anyone is around who recalls the name.’

  ‘Thanks, Ian. Gavin – you’re next.’

  ‘Guv. Laura and I have spent the day visiting as many of the shelters in the Maidstone and district areas as possible. We’ve learned that Shelley has been seen in recent days at one of the shelters there, and one of the blokes who uses the shelter has said he’ll keep an eye out for her and ask her to get in touch. He’s got a note of my number. We’re trying to find out where she might be staying so we can interview her formally – unless you want to do that one?’

  ‘I think in the circumstances, given how skittish she was yesterday morning, that I’d like to be involved,’ said Kay. ‘Good work, though. Anything else to report?’

  Laura rose to her feet. ‘We’ve spoken with one of the housing associations who work with vulnerable people and they’ve undertaken to provide her with somewhere to live for a while if we manage to get this case to court. It might only be for a few weeks, though. It’s not perfect but––’

  ‘It’s something, at least. Thanks.’ Kay gestured to two figures hovering at the fringes of the crowded space. ‘Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to DS Colin Maxwell and DC Mark Weston, who will be joining our team for the duration of this investigation.’

  Maxwell nodded in response, and held up his hand so the team members could see him amongst the throng.

  ‘Colin brings a wealth of experience in dealing with modern slavery cases, and Mark has been with the Rural Crimes team for the past two years. They’ll probably have some ideas about how we can angle this investigation and pursue lines of enquiry we might have overlooked. Debbie – could you spend some time this afternoon, please, bringing them up to date with what we have so far?’

  ‘Will do, guv.’

  ‘Colin, do you want to wander over here and we’ll share what we’ve discussed prior to this briefing?’

  ‘Thanks, guv.’ Maxwell weaved between the rows of chairs until he stood in front of the whiteboard.

  ‘I’ll give a brief overview for those of you I haven’t met before. For the past six years, I’ve been leading one of the teams based out of Headquarters tasked with tackling the increasing modern slavery problem we’re experiencing in Kent – both here in West Division, and working closely with East and North Divisions. We’ve had some breakthroughs in relation to the gangs operating between here and Eastern Europe, but with the UK leaving the EU we’re seeing an increasing problem with domestic slavery cases as well. Through the initiatives we’ve been implementing with other agencies – especially Border Force – there’s been a slight decrease in boat arrivals over the past year, but we’re getting more reports of people falling into slavery or poor working conditions who are UK citizens. Having met with DI Hunter and DCI Sharp yesterday to discuss Ethan Archer’s murder and the subsequent investigation to date, it’s my view that what you have here is a clear case of someone being coerced into work, and then held against their will as a slave.’

  ‘Thanks, Colin.’ Kay waited until he retook his place next to Weston, and then continued. ‘We also discussed the type of work Ethan – and Shelley – might have been made to do. Given the fact that they’ve been missing for over three years with no sighting of them by people they knew prior to that time, we have to assume that they’ve been kept somewhere that was under cover, and away from the public eye.’

  ‘So we can discount nail bars, car washes, and places like takeaway food shops,’ said Barnes, his pen pausing above his notebook.

  ‘Exactly.’ Kay gestured to the map of the crime scene. ‘Based on Ethan’s build, we can assume he was used for physical work. Shelley, being smaller, may have been used for vegetable or fruit picking. If they weren’t working indoors, they could have been made to work at night to lower the risk of being seen.’

  ‘It also lends itself to the fact that food and other supplies could be purchased for the workers without raising suspicion,’ said Weston. ‘A lot of farms provide meals and sometimes lodgings for workers, so it wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary.’

  ‘I’ll liaise with uniform and organise a wider search of neighbouring farming properties,’ said Gavin. ‘We need to return to the three landowners we’ve already spoken to, but I’ll arrange visits to any farms producing vegetables, fruit and then factor in animal producers such as dairy farms and chickens – anything that can be farmed inside a building.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s perfect. Mark – can you give him a hand with that?’

  Weston nodded in response.

  ‘Barnes – while they’re investigating that angle, I want you to work with me to arrange another group of officers to monitor the markets over this weekend. Find out the location of the bigger ones, and let’s monitor them to see if anyone’s still trying to illegally recruit workers like Shelley alleged. If they’re two workers down with Ethan’s murder and Shelley’s escape, they might be trying to find replacements.’

  ‘Will do, guv.’

  ‘Laura, your job is to find Shelley. Check CCTV images from Wednesday night between the Archbishop’s Palace, the river and the town centre. Then do the same for Thursday morning. I’ve uploaded my reports of both incidents to HOLMES2 so you’ll be able to get the descriptions of what she was wearing from those.’

  ‘Guv.’

  Kay jotted the new angles of investigation onto the whiteboard and then turned to the newest member of the team.

  ‘I can’t stress how important it is that we locate her, Laura. Ethan’s killer is still out there, and if Shelley knows something she hasn’t yet told us, then she’s in grave danger.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Laura zipped up her black quilted coat and stalked along Palace Avenue, gritting her teeth as a bracing wind whipped off the River Medway and smacked her cheeks.

  Unable to shake the fug that clouded her thoughts since the briefing, she decided to get some fresh air and gain a sense of understanding of Shelley’s potential points of egress before sitting in front of a computer screen for the rest of the day.

  CCTV cameras would only show her so much – she wanted to walk the exact routes Kay had noted within her reports.

  She tapped her foot as she waited for the pedestrian crossing lights to turn green, not willing to risk her life dodging the traffic as Kay had done on Wednesday night. Mid-af
ternoon on a Friday was bedlam as the town ratcheted up a gear into an early commuter rush amongst the rumour of a rain-free weekend.

  Hurrying across as soon as she heard the familiar zap, she slowed as she approached the entrance to the car park for the Registry Office and pulled out her phone.

  Snapping photographs of the cameras fixed to streetlights above some of the vehicles, she narrowed her eyes and gauged the angle the cameras were able to view, and then moved onwards, tracing her DI’s steps and making a note of each camera she spotted. A sense of unease seized her as she reached All Saints Church.

  She lifted her head to the ornate architraves and buttresses that projected from the stonework, but could see no indication of security measures taken by the diocese.

  Pacing back from the door until she stood under the yew trees, Laura used her phone to trace her footsteps from the direction of the Registry Office, past the church and onwards to the footpath.

  Pausing the video she’d taken, she stood aside for a gaggle of tourists heading in the opposite direction, and then stood on the footpath leading down to the river. Turning her back to the waterway, she ran her gaze over the busy junction with Knightrider Street.

  She snapped photos of the cameras she could see fixed to two of the streetlights in that direction, then turned back to the church, pulled out her notebook and wrote down the route she had taken so far.

  Where she stood was where Kay had turned and watched Shelley’s figure retreat into the darkness.

  Laura sniffed to counteract the effect of the cold air, and walked down to the river before turning left and following the path.

  Moments later, she stood at the edge of the amphitheatre and turned around. Facing the towpath that led along the back of the church and Archbishop’s Palace towards the town centre, she had a clear view of Shelley’s escape route the previous morning.

  Kay had noted in her report that she hadn’t seen the woman cross the pedestrian bridge, so Laura set out along the path.

  A floating restaurant and bar bobbed forlornly on the current, deserted save for the crew who swarmed over the decks cleaning and preparing for the Friday evening crowd that would descend on the place come sundown.

  Beyond that, she passed the brightly coloured passenger boat that conveyed tourists up and down the River Medway, noting a cluster of people huddled against the elements while they waited for the rope across the gangplank to be lowered so they could board and shelter within the fibreglass awning, smart phones and digital cameras at the ready.

  Passing a motley collection of abandoned picnic tables placed beside signs for ice cream that snapped in the wind, Laura headed towards the busy road bridge that loomed ahead.

  A throng of stop-start traffic filtering into four lanes swept above her head prior to being spat out in all directions east and north of the town centre.

  She paused beside the concrete pylon and once more lifted her phone at an angle to catch the CCTV cameras fixed to the streetlights above, then hurried up the footpath and crossed the road.

  Back at the incident room, she set her jaw as she peered at the monitors in front of her.

  Three computer screens ran simultaneously, all displaying a sequence of camera angles filmed at the same time on Wednesday night.

  She watched as Kay left the police station and walked along Palace Avenue towards All Saints Church, then disappeared from sight under the trees as she used the shortcut through to the public car park in front of the Hermitage.

  Time held as she waited for Kay to emerge from the other side, past the archway cut into the stone wall that bordered the footpath down to the river.

  Checking the images she’d saved to her phone, she flicked back and forth while keeping an eye on the CCTV recording.

  Eventually, Kay reappeared and moved towards her car.

  Laura watched as her DI paused, then pulled her hand from her pocket and looked back towards the archway. She stopped the recording, wound it back and then peered at the screen once more, focusing on the churchyard.

  Finding nothing and exasperated with her search, she stopped the recording and switched over to those from Thursday morning. Sure enough, there was Kay parking her car just before seven o’clock outside the Hermitage once more.

  Laura changed to a camera angle that gave her a clear view of the amphitheatre on the river side of the building. She ran the recording forward until Shelley appeared in the bottom left-hand corner, and settled in to watch.

  The woman paced back and forth, arms hugged around her waist as she spoke with Kay, but Laura noted there was no hesitation in her movements when the DI handed her the coffee and sandwich.

  She moved closer to the screen as the conversation between the two women drew to a close – reading Kay’s statement, she knew roughly when to expect Shelley to turn tail and head for the towpath, but the speed at which the woman moved away from the amphitheatre caught her by surprise.

  She hit the “rewind” button, then replayed the last few moments before clicking on a set of controls to bring up new CCTV camera angles.

  Shelley disappeared from sight within a minute of leaving Kay, weaving underneath the main road bridge and then––

  Nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  Laura swore loudly and shoved her mouse and keyboard across the desk away from her in frustration.

  ‘Bloody hell. She knew where the cameras were.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Kay spun around at a loud snap, then relaxed as she saw one of the stallholders manhandling a plastic tarpaulin that had broken free from an awning across from where she sheltered within the doorway to a derelict discount kitchenware shop.

  The morning chill clung to her fingers and toes, creating an ache in her stomach and leaving her earlobes numb.

  Barnes stamped his feet next to her, grumbling under his breath.

  ‘How many do we have on surveillance?’ she said.

  ‘Ten, plus us. Six indoors, the rest out here.’ He frowned. ‘It’s not enough, I know, not with covering the car boot fair as well.’

  ‘It is what it is.’ Kay rubbed at tired eyes and blinked.

  Her alarm had gone off at five-thirty that morning, giving her enough time to shower and dress in the warmest clothes she could find before heading to the market when it opened to stallholders at six o’clock.

  ‘Anything at the farmers’ market yesterday?’ she said.

  ‘No – we were there too late. They start packing up after lunchtime, and Maxwell reckons that based on what Shelley told you, anyone after cheap labour would be around early, so they don’t draw attention to themselves. He’s planning to have a team wandering around that one next week, just in case.’

  ‘We need to get some results before then.’ Kay turned her back as the market trader attached the tarpaulin to the metal framework of his stall, and nudged Barnes. ‘Come on. Let’s have another walk around. My toes are numb.’

  She ran her gaze over the gaudy-coloured signs and awnings that jostled for space on the concrete apron outside the cafés and shops that lined the street.

  Olive oil suppliers traded alongside cheese merchants and winemakers, while the smell of fresh vegetables and baked goods soaked the air as she passed. Someone, somewhere, was frying sausages and as they turned the corner, she spotted the food wagons.

  ‘I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ said Barnes.

  ‘Pia will never forgive me if I let you near that lot. Keep moving.’

  He grinned, and then led the way down a narrow path created by two lines of stalls. ‘I’m surprised this is so popular, given the usual Saturday market over at Lockmeadow.’

  ‘I suppose traders might switch between the two – they’d get a different crowd of customers, won’t they?’

  ‘This isn’t as well organised, though – look.’ He paused and pointed at a pile of discarded burlap sacks and rope that cluttered the pavement beyond the stalls they walked past.

  ‘Well, given Maxwell
’s feedback, this is the sort of place we might expect people like Shelley’s captors to hang around. They’re going to avoid the other market, aren’t they? The council keeps a tight control on that one.’

  ‘I think so. I sent over a team of four to that one anyway. I expect they’ll have a quiet morning but I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Not while Shelley’s still out there somewhere.’

  Kay wrinkled her nose and cast her eyes over the throng of people that swarmed between the different market areas, chattering loudly and laden with tote bags and cardboard boxes.

  ‘I hope she’s okay. I can’t imagine what she’s been through, or how on earth she’s going to fend for herself if someone’s looking for her. I just wish she’d told me more. I could’ve done something to help, or at least worked with Maxwell’s team to put her somewhere safe until we’d cleared all this up.’

  ‘You did your best,’ said Barnes, his tone kindly. ‘And she knows where to find you, right? She’s already tracked you down once.’

  ‘I know, but it worries me I haven’t heard from her for two days now, Ian.’ She paused when they reached the end of the row of stalls and ran her gaze over the expanse of awnings. ‘We’re going to have to split up the teams to tackle the smaller markets from tomorrow morning if we have no success here. What reports have we had in so far from the other markets in the area?’

  Barnes pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages. ‘Three arrested for pickpocketing at Tonbridge, one twelve-year-old kid cautioned for misbehaviour in Tunbridge Wells who then got an earful from his mum when she turned up, and an arrest forty minutes ago – someone carrying a knife in Sevenoaks.’

  Kay sighed. ‘The usual, then.’

  ‘Shall we circle back to where Maxwell and his lot are based?’

  ‘Yes.’ She fell into step beside her colleague, biting back her disappointment.

  After a few moments of walking against the direction of the crowd, she spotted the other detective sergeant beside a newsagents, his phone to his ear.