Yeah, and be on the lookout for alert for that description would have three-figure sightings within the hour.
‘Cash sale?’ she asked.
Penn nodded. ‘I asked about the registration slip, which he’d only got round to posting a few days ago. Been waiting for it to register on the DVLA.’
‘And?’
‘The Toyota now belongs to a local guy named Roger Barton.’
Kim glanced at Bryant. ‘Rapid Rodge,’ they said, together.
Dawson and Stacey looked at each other while Penn continued to look at the screen.
‘Not sure if this means anything, but a Google search names him as a local Scout leader.’
Kim remembered everything they’d learned so far.
‘Normal entrance fee to a Cub Scouts meeting anyone?’
‘Probably a fiver,’ Dawson said with a shrug.
‘That’s what I thought and this is beginning to make a lot more sense,’ she said, launching herself from the table.
‘Get your coat, Bryant. Looks like we might have found Kelly and Donna’s last client.’
FORTY-TWO
Stacey tightened the woollen scarf at her neck as Dawson parked the car. Her feet crunched onto grey sludge that had re-frozen overnight at temperatures of minus two. The chirpy weather presenter had promised a high of three degrees above freezing by 11 a.m. Stacey wasn’t holding her breath.
She closed the car door and looked at him across the bonnet. ‘Kev, this is such a long shot we’ll need a bloody trebuchet to get—’
‘A what?’ he said, opening the door to the café.
‘It’s a weapon that uses a swinging arm to… oh, never mind,’ she said, following him inside.
She wasn’t sure anyone here was going to be able to help them identify their victim.
The warmth of the sparsely populated café charmed her instantly. The furnishings were simple wooden tables and chairs that had their fair share of war wounds but the corners of the tiled floor looked clean. Two food hygiene posters were displayed beneath a chalkboard listing specials. The deli-style counter was tastefully arranged and contained a mixture of soups, smoked sausages, and baked potatoes with different fillings.
Stacey felt her stomach growl in response to the delicious smoky aroma that wafted towards her.
‘Vasile?’ Dawson asked of a rounded man in his mid-fifties. His white T-shirt was crisp and clean.
He nodded.
‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’
‘Mariana,’ he called, as the remaining customers left the building.
Looking around, Stacey realised there was no longer the need for privacy. The café had emptied. Two half-eaten plates of food had been left. Neither herself nor Dawson had taken out their identification or introduced themselves as police officers which made her wonder how they had so quickly been pegged as officials.
A woman in her late teens appeared. Her face was thin and pale with dark circles around her wary eyes. She rubbed flour-covered hands on her apron.
‘Pa?’ she asked.
‘Mind the shop for a minute,’ he instructed, indicating they should follow him out back.
Once beyond the café the space opened up into a roomy, stainless steel endowed kitchen area. Rows of foil trays were arranged along the longest surface of the kitchen.
‘How can I help you?’ he asked, in that rumbling deep voice they’d heard the day before.
‘You told us on the phone that you serve sarmale?’ Dawson asked.
He nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Is it a popular dish?’ Stacey asked, hoping it was a rare choice and only one man had asked for it in the last few weeks.
‘Very popular. Romanian staple,’ he answered. ‘Maybe twenty to thirty portions each day.’
Stacey felt her heart sink.
Dawson took out his phone. He scrolled for a minute and held it out.
‘Do you know this man? Has he been in here?’
Vasile looked and frowned with distaste. ‘Is this man dead?’
Dawson nodded, and Vasile looked again.
He began to shake his head. ‘I don’t think…’
‘Take another look,’ Dawson said, handing him the phone. ‘Are you sure he wasn’t in here late last week, maybe Friday?’
He looked again but shook his head more definitely this time.
‘I don’t know this man,’ he said.
And neither did anyone else, Stacey thought. So far no one had reported him missing.
‘Sir, his immigration status is not important to us…’
‘Not to me either,’ he answered. ‘My daughter and I are legal residents here in—’
‘That’s fine,’ Dawson said. ‘We’re not here to question your legal status. We just need to identify this man and find out what happened to him.’
‘I understand but I do not know him.’
Dawson nodded his acceptance. ‘I appreciate that you must see many people in and out of here each day. You can’t possibly know or recognise every one of them.’
‘I know all of my customers,’ he said defensively.
She understood Dawson’s little test. He appeared to be telling the truth.
‘Is there another café like this close by?’ Dawson asked. ‘Catering to the Romanian community.’
‘Nearest I know is in Wolverhampton,’ he said.
Dawson put his phone back into his pocket.
‘Well, thank you for your time,’ he said, just as Stacey had a sudden thought.
‘Is that sarmale?’ she asked, pointing to the food being prepared into the foil trays.
He nodded.
‘For the shop?’ she asked, looking to the full containers ready and waiting.
‘No. This is being prepared for one of our corporate orders.’
Stacey felt a jolt of excitement in her stomach.
‘Can you tell us who?’ she asked.
‘It’s for Robertson’s Handbags. We deliver there every Thursday.’
FORTY-THREE
‘Pull over here, Bryant,’ Kim said, suddenly.
‘Guv…’ he warned.
‘What?’ she asked, innocently.
‘We appear to be uncomfortably close to the café that a certain person favours for his breakfast.’
‘Really? I hadn’t noticed,’ she said, taking another look at the front window. ‘I’m just deciding if I fancy a bit of toast before we chat to Roger Barton. I mean, what are the chances Kai Lord would be at the exact same place at the exact same time?’
‘You know you can’t go in there and without any direct proof you can’t bring him in…’
‘Oooh, looks like I am hungry after all,’ she said, opening the passenger door.
‘Oh, shit,’ Bryant said, as Kai Lord stepped out of the café.
‘Good to see the death of another one of your colleagues hasn’t affected your appetite,’ Kim said, standing directly in his path.
A slight flare of the nostrils demonstrated just how pleased he was to see her.
‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ he snarled.
She looked around him. ‘Aww, come on, I let you finish your bacon and eggs in peace, didn’t I?’ she taunted.
He stepped around her. She turned and walked by his side.
Bryant was opening the driver’s door. She shook her head in his direction. This was just the two of them.
‘Not gonna look good on your appraisal, is it?’ Kim asked, matching him stride for stride. ‘Losing two employees in a few days. You’re a shit pimp, eh?’
‘Fuck off,’ he said, increasing his stride.
She kept pace.
‘Unless you just don’t give a shit because you’re the one doing them in.’
He said nothing as he turned the corner and headed towards the gold Range Rover parked in a disabled spot.
Kim was disappointed to see it had not been ticketed. She stepped ahead of him and leaned against the driver’s door preventing him from touching the handl
e without touching her first.
‘Get the fuck away…’
‘What are you trying to hide, Kai?’ she asked, suspiciously. ‘I never had you pegged for any murders but your actions are making me think I was wrong to write you off as nothing more than a pathetic low life living off the sweat and misery of other people.’
‘I didn’t fucking kill—’
‘Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. You don’t have the bollocks to kill anyone. You can terrify one of your troops into taking the rap for a manslaughter charge that would have looked better on you. You can order your minions to beat up a copper four on one and you can handle cowed and frightened women who are desperate, but actual murder. Not even close…’
‘Are you trying to fucking bait—?’
‘Except, I’m the only one that thinks so, Kai. The rest of my team reckon you’re a nasty enough bastard to have killed Kelly and Donna for some petty kind of reason, and I think you’re too pathetic. So who is right – them or me?’
‘Move away from the fucking car,’ he growled.
Oh, how he wanted to push her to the side and get into the car, and how she wished he would. She’d have him cuffed and on his way to the station before he had a chance to press the button on his key fob.
She folded her arms and leaned against the metal.
‘And it’s not enough that two girls you’re responsible for are dead but another transaction didn’t quite go to plan, did it?’ she asked, smiling.
He shrugged. ‘Easy come, easy go, innit? Plenty more—’
‘Isn’t it just sooooo annoying when obstacles get in the way of you just doing your job? It’s turning into a bit of a shit week for both of us.’
‘What da fuck you want?’
Her best aim was for him to put his hands on her and give her a reason to haul him in for questioning. The two-foot distance between them told her that was unlikely.
‘Cut the gangster speak with me, Kai. We both know you were no hood kid before your parents died and left you two hundred grand, which you spent in just under three years. It might work with your flunkies on Hollytree but not with me.’
His body moved towards her at the mention of his parents but his self-control was as impeccable as his designer clothing.
Did he not think she would take the time to find out everything she could about her enemies? Kai’s father had built a property portfolio of rental accommodation specialising in houses of multiple occupancy in university towns before his death in a freak storm while on holiday in Indonesia. Neither of Kai’s parents had survived the collapse of a three-storey hotel, and Kai had liquidated all the brick and mortar assets within six months of their deaths.
‘Officer, you better state your business before my solicitor—’
‘I want you to be aware that I know you’re into something more than cheap drugs and prostitution. I don’t know what it is but when I find out I am gonna make sure you go away for a bloody long time,’ she said, stepping away from the car.
Woody would not take a second letter from his solicitor with the same level of understanding.
‘I’m an entrepreneur, officer. Always gotta try new things,’ he said cockily, getting into the car. ‘Some you win, some you lose but one thing’s for sure…’
A van rumbled past as he said his final words and Kim couldn’t quite make out what he’d said.
But to her it had sounded like – ‘not everyone is exactly what they seem’.
FORTY-FOUR
Dawson was in no mood to be appeased quite so easily this time. Fatigue always manifested itself as impatience for him. He’d had another late night made even later with the hour-long argument and the two-hour silence that had followed.
He made no small talk or even friendly eye contact with Melody as they waited for Mr Robertson to appear in reception.
Forget Damascus, he thought. Every road was currently leading back to this rip-off bag factory.
‘Officers, how may I help?’ Steven said appearing behind the young receptionist.
‘Mr Robertson, we’d like to speak to you about a few things. Is there somewhere…?’
‘Of course, follow me,’ he said, heading past them out of the door. They followed him into the showroom.
‘My mother is in a meeting with prospective clients at the moment.’
He led them to a small table at the back of the showroom.
As he followed, Dawson couldn’t help but glance over the selection of goods being displayed. He could visualise his fiancée carrying any one of them. If this was cheap shit, it was impressive cheap shit. Although, not impressive enough to get him out of the current doghouse he’d landed himself in.
‘Please sit,’ Steven said, pushing the keyboard away and leaning his arms on the table.
‘Mr Robertson, is it correct that you place a regular order with Vasile’s Café for sarmale?’ he asked.
The man frowned and then smiled as though it was a trick question. Clearly not what he’d thought was going to be asked.
‘Umm… yes, it’s a very popular Romanian dish and once a week we order it in for the girls,’ he said. ‘They work very hard, officer.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Dawson answered tightly. ‘You said “girls”. Don’t the men get to eat it?’
‘You mean man?’ Mr Robertson asked, ignoring Dawson’s tone. ‘Our only male employee is Nicolae and of course he can have as much as he wants. I use the term “girls” only because the majority of our staff are female.’ He paused. ‘That’s not sexist,’ he defended. ‘But we can only choose from the people who apply.’
‘And how do the women apply to work here?’ Stacey asked.
‘Nicolae brings in CVs and we choose whom to interview.’
‘So, you have no other men working here at all?’ Dawson clarified.
Mr Robertson shook his head.
‘I think I’d like to know exactly why you’re here, officers. I’m not sure how us treating our employees to lunch once a week can have any bearing at all on any case you’re working.’
Dawson felt the nudge of Stacey’s leg beneath the table.
His hostility was borne of frustration at the lead going nowhere. He took out his phone, and once again scrolled to the photo.
‘Sir, do you know this man?’ he asked.
Mr Robertson frowned at the picture. His lips formed into a thin line of distaste.
‘Oh my goodness. Is he dead?’
Dawson wished they had a picture that hadn’t come from the morgue.
‘I’m afraid so,’ he said. ‘Do you know him?’
Mr Robertson shook his head. ‘Is there a reason why you’d think I would?’
Dawson was not prepared to admit they were here simply because the man had sarmale in his stomach.
‘I’m really sorry, officer,’ Mr Robertson said, glancing at his watch. ‘But I don’t think there’s anything else I can offer.’
‘Is there a chance we could speak with some of your employees?’ Stacey asked pleasantly. ‘Perhaps one of them might know this man.’
Dawson admired his colleague for trying but suspected he knew the answer.
‘Of course, officer. You can speak to them all if you’d like.’
Dawson hid his surprise. Not the response they’d been expecting.
Steven Robertson laughed. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you but these girls are not our prisoners. We have nothing to hide.’
‘Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Robertson,’ Stacey said.
‘Not at all, officer. All you had to do was ask.’
FORTY-FIVE
Ellie stepped out of the shower and listened keenly, sure that she could hear voices from downstairs. Probably Roxanne singing along to the radio again. Anything from Pink and the woman couldn’t help herself.
Ellie had resolved that today she would definitely call her mother. She knew it would probably end in an argument. Her anger at her mother’s total lack of concern was bubbling away beneath the
mature high ground she had chosen to take. If this was how her mother wanted it to be then that was fine by her but she needed to hear it properly before she moved on.
And she would just as stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that there had been moments over the last few days when she had missed the sound of her mother humming to old eighties tunes as she pottered around in the kitchen. Or that she had missed their good-natured bickering over the bathroom first thing in the morning.
If that was her mum’s game then she could play it too.
Ellie combed her hair and headed down the stairs. For lunch they were cooking Mexican together. And afterwards she would call her mother.
Ellie stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of a huge black man sitting at the kitchen table. His entire wardrobe was as dark as his skin, except for a glistening gold watch on his wrist.
Roxanne turned from the counter as the kettle boiled. Her face looked drawn and pensive. The smile was forced.
‘Ellie, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Kai Lord.’
Ellie forced a smile and nodded towards the male. She caught his gaze as it travelled over her body from head to toe. His smile made her a little uncomfortable. It was not the benign type offered on greeting someone for the first time. There was an element of pleasure, satisfaction. The way you viewed something you’d made, or acquired, a possession.
‘Pleased to meet you, Ellie,’ he said, offering his hand.
He remained seated, which meant she had to walk towards him or risk offence and she would not be so rude to a friend of Roxanne’s no matter how creepy he was.
His grip was firm, his skin warm. He held her hand for a second too long. He squeezed, she winced, he smiled.
Ellie felt the anxiety build in her stomach. She did not like this man one little bit.
She backed away towards the door. ‘I’ll umm leave you to it…’
‘Sit, please,’ Kai said, pleasantly.
She hesitated and looked to Roxanne but was met with the back of her head.
Ellie sat.
Roxanne turned and placed a mug of hot chocolate before her and a cup of green liquid before her friend. She looked at neither of them.
Broken Bones: A gripping serial killer thriller (Detective Kim Stone Crime Thriller Series Book 7) Page 15
