He shrugged. ‘Not actively monitored, I’m guessing.’
‘Kev, we can’t—’
‘Stace, there are times out in the field when you have to ask yourself one question and one question only.’
‘Which is?’
‘What would the boss do?’
Stacey immediately knew the answer to that one and followed him through.
‘I still don’t know what the hell…’
‘Look at the floor,’ he said, pointing towards the blue door.
She saw nothing except a smattering of cigarette ends.
‘Aah, got it,’ she said.
Clearly where the staff came for a fag break.
‘So, we just gonna hang around here until…’ Her words trailed away as the blue door opened.
A slight woman in a red overall stepped out and froze. Two other women barged into her and forced her forward. Panic filled all of their eyes as they looked from Dawson to her and back again.
‘It’s okay,’ Stacey said, holding up her hands and smiling. ‘We’re not here to hurt you or get you into any trouble. We just want to talk. Do you speak English?’
Two of the women shook their heads but the slight woman nodded slowly, caution shining from her eyes. She still held the blue door open and could bolt back in at any second. The door was key coded and they would have no chance of following her.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she whispered as the other two ladies moved away and lit cigarettes from cupped hands. They whispered and stared before moving away even further.
‘Can we just ask you a couple of questions, while you have your smoke? And then we’ll go,’ Stacey said.
The woman began to close the door slowly behind her. Stacey guessed her to be early twenties. Her hair was dark brown; a long, untidy bob with a blunt fringe that was falling over her eyes.
‘What’s your name?’ Stacey asked.
‘Cristina,’ she answered, quietly.
‘Cristina, are you Romanian?’ Stacey asked, realising Dawson had taken a step back.
Cristina nodded.
‘Are all the girls in the factory Romanian?’
Again she nodded but Stacey was concerned to see that the fear hadn’t yet left her face.
‘I promise you, we’re not here to cause you any trouble,’ Stacey assured her.
The young woman offered her a tremulous half-smile.
‘Is everything okay in there?’ she asked, nodding towards the door.
‘Yes, yes, is good place to work,’ she offered automatically, taking a draw on the cigarette.
‘Only, we tried to speak to you the other day but the minibus left…’
‘Nicolae takes us home,’ she said, nodding.
‘And where is home?’ Stacey asked.
‘Brockmoor,’ she said, quickly. ‘We… I live in Brockmoor.’
‘Cristina, do they treat you okay?’ Stacey asked.
The girl’s fingers were red raw and blistered on the ends. Cristina followed her gaze to her fingertips.
‘I am new. Skin is hardening to the fabric.’
Stacey felt her heart plummet slightly. It was unlikely she’d be familiar enough with the other girls to know if any of them had recently had a baby but she had to try anyway.
‘Cristina, do you know of any of your colleagues who has had a baby in the last few months?’
She frowned and shook her head, and Stacey realised they were only a moment away from the end of that cigarette.
‘Are you sure? It could be very important. If you could just think about it…’
‘I’m so sorry but I do not know these ladies. I am new here. I wish I could help…’ she said, throwing the cigarette on the floor.
Stacey had a sudden thought.
‘Maybe you can,’ she said, removing the pages from Keats from her satchel. ‘This book has come to our attention. Is this written in Romanian?’
Cristina took a quick look at it and nodded before turning back towards the door.
‘I’m sorry but I have to—’
‘Cristina, would you be able to help us translate this? Your English is very good and it might assist us.’
She shook her head.
‘Please, and then I promise we’ll leave you alone. Would you take a look at it for us?’ Stacey asked separating the two sets of photocopies.
She sighed and took the pages from Stacey’s hand. She keyed the entrance code into the number pad.
‘Cristina, how will we contact…’
‘Here, again, tomorrow,’ she said, disappearing inside the door. The other two women slunk in behind her.
‘Good job, Stace,’ Dawson said as they headed back towards the gate.
‘For what?’ she asked.
‘Finally opening your mouth,’ he said.
‘And good job to you too,’ she said.
‘For what?’ he asked, confused.
‘Finally learning to keep yours shut.’
THIRTY-SIX
‘Bryant, slow the fuck down,’ Kim cried as her left-hand side crashed against the passenger door.
‘What?’ he snapped.
‘Nothing, I’m sure my shoulder will pop right back into its socket once you turn left again.’
‘Of all the heartless bitches I’ve ever had the misfortune to—’
‘Watch that van,’ she said, monitoring vehicles exiting the side streets more closely than he was.
Bryant hit the brakes. Hard.
‘Pull over,’ she demanded.
‘With pleasure,’ he growled, stopping in front of a small tobacconist.
She followed his gaze. ‘Oh no you don’t,’ she said.
‘Oh yes I bloody do,’ he said, taking off his seatbelt. ‘I’m buying a pack of twenty and smoking the whole damn lot.’
She grabbed his arm. ‘Oi, talk,’ she ordered.
‘I’ve never wanted a cigarette more than I do right now,’ he said, trying to shake his arm free.
‘Because of that foul woman?’
He grunted.
‘You’re gonna let a vile, repulsive, sad excuse for a woman give you a reason to start killing yourself again?’
‘I’m just so bloody angry…’
‘Absolutely you’re angry,’ she said, loosening her grip on his jacket. At least he was talking now. ‘I wanted to wring her neck. When matey boy Ken spat on her I wanted to haul him back and insist he do it again.’
‘How could a mother do that to her own daughter?’ he asked, gripping the steering wheel with whitened knuckles. ‘To knowingly offer her up to Kai Lord for any kind of punter to use her and… Jesus, I can’t even finish the sentence.’
‘That’s not a mother, Bryant. It’s a woman who gave birth to a child. There’s a bloody big difference.’
He sighed, heavily.
‘Guv, I try to keep the faith; I swear to God I try to remember that most people are decent and good. Just some days the balance of what we see ain’t in my favour.’
‘Yes, it is,’ she said, simply.
He shook his head.
‘That guy, Tim, volunteers at the community centre off his own back because he believes in human nature. An ex-convict named Len uses that place to try and stay out of trouble. Even Ken ended up surprising us.’
He turned to look at her. ‘You’re advising me on positivity?’
‘Oh, the irony,’ she observed.
She allowed him a moment of silence.
‘You okay to drive sensibly now?’ she asked.
‘And the irony continues,’ he said, smartly.
‘You know, it’s a good job Woody pairs you with me so I can keep you calm,’ she said, seriously.
Bryant’s sudden laughter filled the car as he pulled out and joined the queue of traffic.
Eventually he turned into a side street that would retain the snow long after it had disappeared everywhere else. The car slid to a halt in front of a row of terraces. The front bumper almost kissed the rear of a white Peugeot.
‘You,’ Kim answered. She wanted to use all her senses to see what this woman had been doing kerb crawling the night before.
Bryant knocked the front door. It was answered by a woman in her early forties. Her eyes were dark yet filled with hope, until her gaze moved between the two of them.
The colour began to drain from her face.
Bryant held out his card and introduced them.
The woman’s eyes rolled in her head right before she fell to the ground.
THIRTY-SEVEN
‘I’m gonna ring the Home Office,’ Dawson said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
The Home Office controlled immigration and passports amongst Immigration Enforcement, Border Force, HM Passport Office and UK Visas and Immigration. Immigration Enforcement was set up in April 2012 to prevent abuse, track immigration offenders and increase compliance with immigration law. They carried out some six thousand raids per year based on intel from approximately fifty thousand allegations from the public.
‘For what?’ Stacey asked.
‘I want them to do a raid on the factory.’
‘Hey, I know, instead of inventing a crime why don’t we deal with one we’ve already got?’
‘I’m gonna call ’em,’ he insisted.
‘Or we could go and check for CCTV footage of our guy close to the canal towpath.’
‘Yeah, and with no estimated time of death what day month or year should we start?’
‘Bloody hell, Kev. Use your brain. What day did we have that last bad snowstorm?’ she asked.
‘Friday night.’
‘And when was he found?’
‘Monday morning, this morning.’
‘You really think he’d have lain there undiscovered if he hadn’t been covered in snow?’
‘So, you think it happened Friday night?’
Stacey nodded. ‘He’d have been spotted otherwise. I went to bed it was a light flurry. I woke up and there was a three-foot snowdrift up my front door. You just want to get into Robertson’s because someone told you that you can’t.’
‘Did you see how frightened she was?’ he asked, staring out of the window. ‘She didn’t want to talk to us for a minute longer than necessary in case she got caught.’
‘Kev, get off it,’ she said.
He shook his head and took out his phone.
‘Nah, they’ve got those girls working there illegally. I know it. If we can get Immigration Enforcement to pay them a visit we could get their addresses, speak to their neighbours. I’m telling you, Stace, someone in that building knows something about that child.’
‘So, how are you gonna get it raided?’
He shrugged. ‘Anonymous tip.’
Stacey knew that the majority of raids on business premises were carried out on the back of anonymous tips. But she wasn’t sure how it would help them if they weren’t involved.
Dawson’s fingernails returned to the wheel.
She sighed heavily, as she took out her phone.
‘What are you doing?’ Dawson asked, as she scrolled through her contact list.
She reached D and hit on the name Devon. She put the phone on the dashboard and put it on loudspeaker.
‘Hey, babe,’ came the female response.
‘Hi Dev,’ Stacey said, quickly. ‘I’m here with my colleague. You gor a minute?’
‘So, now’s not a good time to ask why you never called me after our one night of steaming hot—’
‘Dev,’ Stacey cried, feeling the colour flood into her cheeks. For once she was pleased her caramel skin hid it from view.
‘Please, continue,’ Kev shouted with wide eyes.
‘Just kidding,’ Devon said, with a throaty laugh. ‘Wishful thinking on my part,’ she added.
It had been one date, two drinks and definitely no sex.
‘What can I do for you, babe?’
‘We’ve got a factory full of Romanian girls. Not sure if they’re legal or not,’ Stacey said, refusing to echo Dawson’s suspicions on the back of no evidence.
‘And?’
‘Truthfully, I think someone in there is hiding something.’
‘Come on, babe, you know we need more than that,’ Devon said. ‘You know the process. We get an allegation, field officers hit the streets and put together an intel pack. Then we make a decision on a raid, appoint an OIC, make a plan and get a warrant from the Magistrate’s…’
‘Yeah, right,’ Stacey said, affably.
‘Okay,’ Devon admitted. ‘We sometimes skip that last bit but we do have a process to go through. We can’t just storm into premises and round up every employee. We have to know who or what we’re looking for and target only those individuals.’
‘You’re kidding?’ Dawson called across the car.
‘Nope,’ she answered. ‘We can legally question other people who arouse our suspicion once we’re in but we gotta go in for a reason.
‘In some cases we can get consent on the door from the employers but they aren’t normally that cooperative,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ Stacey asked. Surely employers would want to weed out illegal workers.
‘Twenty grand fine per worker,’ Devon answered.
Dawson whistled.
‘And we have a body,’ Stacey said.
‘Linked to the factory?’ Devon asked doubtfully.
‘No,’ she said honestly. They could barely link him to being Romanian.
Dawson appeared to have lost interest and was tapping away on the steering wheel again.
‘Any suggestions?’ she asked.
Devon sighed heavily. ‘Offer to take me out for a drink and then ask me again.’
The smirk on her colleague’s face mirrored the smile threatening her own.
‘Okay, I’ll buy you a drink,’ Stacey said, trying to keep the chuckle out of her voice. ‘Now what?’
‘I’ll put some feelers out on the street.’
‘You’ll get some field intel?’
‘Hey, hey, hey, slow down. What I’m gonna do is so far below field intel it’s in another country. Girl, for that I’d want much more than a gin and tonic.’
‘Okay, okay, anything you can do to help,’ Stacey said, smiling. ‘And I’ll give you a call,’ she said, hanging up.
‘Spunky. I like her,’ Dawson said, tapping something into his phone.
‘Like I give a shit about that,’ Stacey said, shaking her head.
‘Okey-dokey, let’s try this one,’ he said, pressing the call button.
Like her, he put the phone on loudspeaker.
‘Hello,’ grumbled a deep low voice.
‘Is that Romy’s in Ambelcote?’
‘Yes, if you want table we no do booking,’ stated the thick accented male.
Stacey typed in ‘Romy’s Amblecote’: A mixture of English and Romanian cuisine.
‘Do you offer takeaway?’ Dawson asked.
‘Yes, five to eleven,’
Stacey assumed he meant from five until eleven.
‘You sell sarmale?’ Dawson asked.
‘Yes,’ the man said as though it was a no-brainer.
Stacey smiled at her colleague. It was as thin as rice paper but it was a lead nonetheless.
THIRTY-EIGHT
‘Jeez, Bryant, what is it with you today?’ Kim asked as she knelt beside the woman.
Bryant joined her on the opposite side. He grabbed a jacket from the hooks behind the door and placed it under the woman’s head.
‘Must be my animal magnetism, guv,’ he said.
‘Yeah, that’ll be it,’ Kim said, as the woman began to moan.
‘Mrs Greaves, it’s okay. You’re safe,’ Kim said, reassuringly. She thought it best not to mention again that they were police officers.
The woman opened her eyes. It took a second for her to focus.
‘It’s all right, Mrs Greaves. You just fainted. Are you hurt at all?’
The woman sh
ook her head as she began to return to the present. And as she did her eyes filled with fear. Her hand clutched Kim’s. Her grip was ice cold.
‘Is she dead?’ The words were barely more than a whisper.
Kim looked to Bryant who shook his head.
‘Is who dead, Mrs Greaves?’
The woman forced herself to a sitting position, shaking her head.
‘My daughter, of course. Eleanor Greaves. Ellie…’
‘Mrs Greaves, I’m really sorry but we have no idea what you’re talking about.’
Kim watched the relief turn to frustration, as she helped the woman to her feet. With her legs now cleared from the doorway Bryant closed the front door. Mrs Greaves was a little unsteady but she held onto the bureau against the wall.
‘Then why are you here?’ she asked. ‘Are you finally going to help me look for her?’
‘If we just step inside, Bryant will make some tea—’
‘I don’t want bloody tea, officer. I want someone to help me find my daughter.’
She turned around and walked into a lounge on the right. Kim followed. Although small, the room was tastefully decorated in neutral colours.
‘How old is your daughter, Mrs Greaves?’
‘Sixteen, which is why you lot couldn’t give a damn when I reported her missing last night.’
Kim understood the woman’s frustrations but a sixteen-year-old not returning home at the weekend was not a high-priority case.
But the dates slotted into place in her head.
‘So, you’ve been out looking yourself?’ Kim asked.
‘Well, of course I have. No one else is going to help me.’
‘Her father?’
‘Has never been in the picture and if Ellie could find him she’d have done a much better job than the CSA.’
‘Could she have found him?’ Kim asked, gently. Teenagers could be secretive creatures.
The woman shook her head. ‘She didn’t even know his name. She’s never been interested.’
‘So what happened between the two of you?’ Kim asked, glancing at Bryant.
If Mrs Greaves had been able to hear the silent conversation, Kim reasoned, it would have gone something like:
‘Take out your notebook.’
‘This isn’t our case.’
‘Just do it.’
Broken Bones: A gripping serial killer thriller (Detective Kim Stone Crime Thriller Series Book 7) Page 13
