‘I guess, Harry.’
‘So you have just lied to one of Her Majesty’s crown court judges?’
‘It might be true, and it was the turning point for Wilkins to grant everything we were after,’ Vinnie said.
‘Christ, Vinnie! I should put you on paper as soon as we get back to the office. You had better hope that what you’ve told the judge actually turns out to be correct.’
Vinnie didn’t answer; he could see that Harry was angry with him, so chose a contrite silence. He knew he’d taken a huge risk, one he hadn’t actually planned to take. The words had just come out. But he also knew he was on safer ground now, with Harry at least; as Harry hadn’t actually corrected him in front of Judge Wilkins. Something that Vinnie decided he didn’t need to point out. There was no point in pushing his luck too far.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Pick up the damn phone, Vinnie,’ Christine said, as she listened to the ring tone. It seemed to run on for ages and she was expecting it to go to answerphone, when he answered.
‘I’ve just seen the news feed, my God Vinnie, are you OK? You should have rung me.’
‘So sorry, I’d every intention of ringing you before the press conference but events have been constant all day, but yes, I’m fine thanks, a bit shocked at first, but OK now,’ Vinnie answered.
‘It says the attack was targeting a witness and is not believed to have been aimed at the officers; is that true?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely, so there’s no need to worry further, there’s no madman after me this time.’
After their joint experiences with Moxley in the past, she was relieved to hear it. It was during that manhunt she first met Vinnie. She felt relieved to hear him confirm he was OK, and could tell by his voice that he wasn’t hiding anything to spare her concern. In fact, just hearing his voice was calming in itself. ‘Is this what it’s going to be like, dating a detective?’ she asked with a smile in her voice.
‘I bloody hope not!’
She said she’d let him get on as he was obviously busy, and would keep an open hope that they could meet up later, but understood if he couldn’t.
She was about to ring off when Vinnie brought up her earlier request. ‘Don’t bother with that now, you’ve had enough on the go,’ she said.
‘Too late, I’ve just put the phone down from the OIC in the Manchester case, and was literally about to call you.’
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘I’ve given him the heads up re Debroski, so he’ll get nowhere near the women, but having vouched for you and your intentions, he’s put a call into social services, who are still looking after the women.’
‘That’s brilliant! When do you expect to hear back from him?’
‘Hang on, I’ll just put you on hold,’ Vinnie said, and then the line went dead. Two minutes later, he was back on the line. ‘I guess tonight’s drink was never going to happen…’ he started.
‘More work?’
‘For you, yes, that was the Manchester OIC ringing back, the women have agreed to meet you, but it will have to be tonight. Grab a pen and I’ll give you the details.’
Christine thanked Vinnie and ended the call before re-reading her notes. Liverpool in two hours. She’d just have time to grab a sandwich and change, before heading for the M62.
Having eaten and changed into a T-shirt and jeans, Christine put her hair in a ponytail before grabbing her pad and dictaphone. She wanted to look casual, and hopefully disarming, anything to help put these two poor women at ease. She also read the full story online, something she should have done before she met Debroski; she’d have seen the sensationalistic nature of his article if she had, and would have been forewarned.
But taking the sleaze out of the narrative, it was obvious that the two women, only referred to as A and B, had been through hell. Both were in their late twenties and had come to the UK on the false premise of being hired by a well-to-do family who ran a successful media business from home.
It had been said that the family had claimed to want two women to act as housekeepers, but with the opportunity to do some photo shoots, as well. They claimed to have seen their profile photos and were keen to explore with them the chance to use their images within their media business. That was the hook. It was also the red flag, or should have been. And according to their evidence, that was pretty much all they had known.
Iqbal Mamood and his wife Sabera had kept the women in a virtual state of captivity for the ensuing months, making them work all hours for as little as £1 a day. Their lodging and keep were free, but it would be hard to put any value on them. They were confined to a locked garage with the use of an outside toilet and fed on whatever food was left over once they had catered for the Mamoods. They had Sundays off, and were permitted to use the main house’s downstairs shower room as a treat.
The farmhouse where they were kept was in the middle of nowhere and they were only allowed into the nearest village once a month, when they had to endure the lecherous advances of their chaperone, who was the Mamoods’ nineteen-year-old son, also called Iqbal.
It was hard to imagine such things went on in modern Britain.
By eight o’clock, Christine had parked her car around the corner from the address on Queens Drive in Walton, in the northern area of Liverpool. Queens Drive was a major thoroughfare that functioned as a ring road around the eastern side of the city. The house was a post-war semi-detached at the end of a section. The light was almost gone now, and Christine saw the flash of an interior light from behind the front room curtains, which twitched as she walked down the front garden path towards the front door.
Before she could knock, the door was opened by a woman in her forties, who identified herself as Mrs Brown from social services. She presumed who Christine was, and asked to see her press ID before allowing her inside. Mrs Brown spoke with a Manchester accent and seemed pleasant, but business-like. She stopped Christine in the hall and spelt out the rules.
‘You come highly recommended, and the ladies have only agreed to meet you as they understand you are keen to report what has happened to them in order to warn others.’
‘Absolutely, though I was hoping to include a beginning with a snapshot of what life was like for them in Romania, followed on by what they found once they arrived. Irrespective of the fact that they were obviously duped, it would be interesting to understand their expectations.’
‘I’m sure that will be fine, and I believe I have you to thank for protecting them from one of your colleagues, whose intentions were more salacious.’
‘Trust me, it’s a pleasure, and Debroski is no colleague of mine.’
Mrs Brown smiled, then she walked into the front room and Christine followed.
Inside, she took one armchair as Mrs Brown took the other. In between them was a three-seater settee with two women on it. Both were stunningly attractive, with slim builds and raven black hair; one cut short in a bob, the other shoulder length. Mrs Brown introduced Christine to the women, and then the women to Christine. Bob haircut was to be A, and shoulder length hair was B.
Christine couldn’t ask, but wondered if the women were related, from appearances they could have been twins. Mrs Brown said that both understood English quite well, but were not as good at speaking it. Christine promised to speak slowly and keep her questions short and simple.
An hour later, Christine had all she needed. As scary as their experiences had been in this foreign land, she was just relived that the women had not been forced into a more depraved level of servitude. She was even surprised a little, as both women were truly beautiful, although their eyes hid darkness within that was nothing to do with their deep brown colour.
Mrs Brown had explained their need for urgency this evening, as both had opted to go home to Romania — quite understandable in the circumstances — and their escort to the airport was due shortly. They already had their temporary travel documents, issued by their embassy in London. These had arrived by motorcycle c
ourier shortly prior to Christine’s arrival.
Both women seemed excited to be heading home. Christine asked if they would ever return to the UK in the future, and Bob A said probably not, but Shoulder B said maybe London. Then there was a knock at the door.
‘That’ll be the escort,’ Mrs Brown said, peeping through the curtains as she spoke. ‘And I can see a car outside. I’ll go and let them in.’
Christine thanked the two women again and wished them both well as she packed her notepad and voice recorder into her handbag.
Then she heard Mrs Brown scream from the hallway.
Chapter Twenty
Christine jumped to her feat, initially unsure what was taking place. Both women stood up, grabbed their holdalls and held them close to their chests. Christine slammed the door to the front room shut, gripped the end of the settee and started to pull it across the doorway. Both women helped. Christine told the women to follow her as she rushed into the open plan dining room and through the second door, which led into a small kitchen. She was grateful there wasn’t a further door giving access to the hallway.
As she moved, she could hear Mrs Brown struggling with someone and shouting, ‘How dare you! Take your hands off me! You’re not coming past me until you show me your ID.’
Mrs Brown’s last sentence was clearly redundant; it was as if she was trying to warn Christine and the women. Christine felt terrible for not going to her aid, but she had to get the women out.
It had become clear to Christine, in the few seconds that had passed, that whoever was forcing their way into the hall was not interested in Mrs Brown, and was certainly not the women’s escort. Well — not the one they were expecting.
The rear door was unlocked, saving valuable seconds as Christine rushed the two women through it. She found the presence of mind to check the inner lock and was glad to see a mortice-style key stuck in it. She grabbed the key, shut the door and put the key in the lock from outside. The delay felt like ages, but could only have been a second or two. She heard and felt the locking levers click into place a fraction of a second before the handle shot downwards from inside. It hurt her wrist as it forced her own hand from it.
She heard Mrs Brown screaming obscenities and felt a second twinge of guilt. Then she heard the woman shout, ‘Run, Christine, run!’ as someone started to kick the kitchen door from inside.
Christine shouted, ‘Follow me,’ as she raced into the small grassed rear garden, which she quickly realised was surrounded by a six-foot six-inch fence. But her heart lifted as she came to a halt at the end and realised that the fence was panelled within concrete uprights. She grabbed at the bottom of one of the huge fence panels and was joined by the two women. Between them, they were easily able to lift the panel a couple of feet into the air. Two of them held it up as one dived through. They swapped places until all three were clear. Then, they let the panel slam back down onto its concrete plinth just as a loud crash came from the back of the house. It sounded as though the kitchen door had lost its battle.
But as luck would have had it, the house the women had been in was gable-ended and the side street they now found themselves in was the one Christine had parked her car in, rather than on the busy main road that was Queens Drive.
It only took a few extra seconds to cross the road and unlock her car. Both women jumped into the back as she landed on the driver’s seat. Christine rammed the electronic key into the car’s ignition and pressed start. The engine fired up straight away, but again the whole process felt like an eternity. She rammed the car into first gear and spun both the rear wheels as it set off. She’d be at the junction with Queens Drive in seconds and hoped her access would be clear as she jumped on the brakes.
She instinctively glanced at the fence as they flew past the side of the house, and caught a glimpse of a head as it appeared over the top of a fence panel, followed by a body, and then a second. She didn’t see the second person clearly, although she presumed they were both male, but she did get a look straight into the face of the first man. White-ish skinned, short thick dark hair and a black moustache, which looked unusual as they seemed to have gone out of fashion and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen one. She also saw a look of anger and frustration on the man’s face.
Christine turned to face front again and instinctively looked in her rear view mirror as she skidded towards a halt at the side street’s junction. In her mirror she could see that both women had too been looking towards the house, Bob A being the nearest as she was right behind Christine. Both women turned to face the front and Christine looked momentarily into Bob A’s face before she concentrated on the junction. She concentrated on her driving. Looking to her right there was a break in the traffic which she took full advantage of, accelerating through 90 degrees in a wide arc as she turned left into the main road. She exhaled, unaware that she had been holding her breath as she powered away.
She asked both the women if they were alright; both thanked her and said that they were. Christine drove hard for about half a mile and then pulled over, onto the grass verge at the side of the road, and parked half on it and half on the adjoining footpath. She ignored the numerous car horns that blasted their disapproval and quickly pulled her mobile phone from her bag. She dialled 999 to send help to that poor woman she had left back at the house. The call was answered in a few rings, but in those brief moments of pause, she reflected on the look she had seen on Bob A’s face as they drove away. A look of fear, yes, but also one of recognition.
Chapter Twenty-One
By the time Vinnie and Harry arrived back in their office, the tension had eased a little. Vinnie offered to buy Harry a canteen dinner. He had no reason to rush home as Christine would be busy over in Liverpool and the traffic back to Manchester would be horrendous. Harry agreed; a good sign. By the time they finished their fish and chips, Harry was talking again. Vinnie played the subservient deputy role, but was starting to become irked at Harry overplaying the outraged boss; after all, he’d let Vinnie’s porky ride.
They had just sat down when there was a knock at the door. Vinnie opened it and standing in front of him was Detective Sergeant Susan Grady. She hurried in past him and said, ‘Please close the door.’
Vinnie did, and as he turned around he saw a look of shock on Harry’s face.
‘You’ve got some explaining to do, or should I throw you in a cell first? Wouldn’t want to tread on your rights — as a prisoner.’
‘Gents, look I know how it must seem, but please let me explain before you do anything rash.’
Vinnie wasn’t sure what Grady’s angle was, but he knew they were dealing with an experienced detective and had to try to push any emotions to one side. The last thing he wanted to do was to give Grady a ‘get out of jail’ card by an abuse of process.
He jumped in. ‘Before you utter another word, let me caution you, so that at least whatever you are about to say can be used in court later.’ Vinnie quickly recited the full caution to her and saw Harry nod his approval. Even though they had not arrested Grady yet, whatever she was about to declare could prove useful. They’d let her speak, and then Vinnie would grant Harry’s wish and lock up this criminal with a badge.
‘I’ll cut straight to it. At the raid, I knew Babik was close by. We exchanged texts. It’s why I persuaded you to take Jody Watson in as a witness, and suggested you go straight away in your motor, sir.’
Vinnie was stunned. A straightforward admission was not what he’d expected.
‘So there can be no mistake later on, you heard DI Palmer caution you?’ Harry said.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Drop the sir bit, it sounds too obsequious coming from you.’
‘So you set up this poor woman to be murdered, to prevent her evidence being heard?’ Vinnie said.
‘I know it seems like that, but I was trying to save her,’ Grady replied.
Vinnie had no idea what she meant. He noted that Harry had taken his pocket note book out from his
desk drawer and was scribbling away. Vinnie would ask all the questions now. ‘You do realise that the bullet that killed Watson could have easily taken me out as well?’
‘I’m truly sorry about that; it wasn’t supposed to happen that way.’
Vinnie was more confused than ever. ‘Go on.’
‘I got a text from Cornel, I mean Babik, saying he knew that the place was being raided and had it been minutes later, he’d have been there. He asked where I was. I said I was there. He asked if Jody was there. I said yes, and that she was about to be nicked.’
Vinnie couldn’t see where this remarkable admission was going, though he suspected the text traffic had been the other way around. He let Grady continue.
‘He asked how long before she would leave. I guessed 10 to 15 minutes. It would have taken that long for the first prisoner escort van to arrive.’
Vinnie found his next question quite easily now, ‘Oh, I see, make sure we took her in as a witness, so she would be a far easier target. Nice one.’
‘No, no, you’re getting this all wrong!’
‘I’m beginning to think I’ve heard enough. You can save the rest for when you are formally interviewed. What do you say, Mr Delany?’ Vinnie said.
But before Harry could reply, Grady continued. ‘I knew Babik would attack the van with automatic weapons, it would have been a bloodbath. The cops escorting Watson could have been killed, too.’
‘So you thought you’d make it easier for him, eh? And what about Mr Delany and me?’
‘That’s why I suggested you take her in as a witness and to do it straight away, to prevent the attack.’
‘But it can only have been you who tipped him off that she was with us? We wondered how the attack had happened so quickly. Now we know why.’
‘That wasn’t me.’
Vinnie was about to walk to his desk to get his handcuffs, not that he needed them to arrest Grady, he just wanted to add to her humiliation when he marched her into the custody suite. But her last remark stopped him in his tracks. ‘So who did then?’
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