Authors: Michael Hambling
Chapter 29: Satin and Suspenders
Wednesday Afternoon
Sorina looked at the other women. They were lounging on sofas in the sitting room of a small terraced house in Weymouth, skimming through glossy magazines. They were full of articles and pictures about shallow, stupid people and their shallow, stupid lives. But what else was there to read? This was all that their captors provided, as if none of them had the intelligence to read anything deeper. Or maybe that was the idea, to turn them into brainless simpletons who would just do whatever they were told. She saw Catalina watching her, and gave the older woman a brief smile. At least she had one friend. If only Nadia were still here, then she could talk more freely. They could plan for a different future.
The girls were all dressed in cheap, satin lingerie and high-heeled sandals. She could only think that the men wanted them to look sexy and sophisticated. To her they merely looked tatty and ridiculous, like living toys. She guessed that she looked even worse than the others. At least they had curves. In her case the pink, satin gown hung like a sack from her thin body. And the stupid suspenders they made her wear dug into her thighs.
The door handle turned and one of the women came in, fresh from entertaining her very first client in one of the upstairs rooms. She was smiling nervously and holding up a twenty pound note.
‘My share,’ she said. ‘Barbu took the rest. But it is more than I’d earn in a day back home. And it wasn’t too bad. He was gentle — and clean.’
Sorina felt like retching. She took a sip of water and returned to a story about some third rate celebrity. None of the magazines carried articles about nurses, farmers, scientists, teachers or anyone who did a useful job. They were just full of vain people who did nothing but go to parties. And anyway, she’d read them all before. No new magazines had come from Romania for some time now. Would English magazines be any different? She hoped so. She wanted to learn more of the language, so that she could read some of the newspapers and periodicals she’d caught sight of when they’d driven into town. Maybe they’d be more like the magazines her teachers had told her she should read, with articles on history and literature. Her teacher had wanted her to stay on at school and study for entry to university. But her recently widowed mother had desperately needed money to clothe and feed Sorina’s younger brothers . . . And now?
A second woman came in. Her mood was very different. She slid silently into her chair, looking at no one. Sorina could see her lip quivering. She’d been chosen by a heavier man, who’d smelled slightly of mildewed clothes. His eyes were hard, and Sorina had rejoiced silently when they had skated across her and settled on the more voluptuous, older woman. Was this what it was going to be like from now on? This anxiety as each visitor inspected them and made a choice?
She’d overheard Barbu and the other men talking. They had spoken in English so she hadn’t understood much. But she had picked up that they would be taken out somewhere that night because the weather was to be a little warmer. Whatever happened, surely nothing would be as bad as that afternoon with the two men in the farmhouse. Maybe that had been its purpose. It was a warning to show her the worst that could happen, so she would accept lesser evils more readily. They hadn’t touched her since then, but she still had flashbacks of that dreadful hour. Her hatred remained. It burned inside her every time she looked at Barbu or the other man. Even hearing Barbu’s voice was enough. She’d never thought it was possible to feel such hatred. She’d like to do to him what they’d done to that young man, Stefan, the day after they’d arrived. She’d like to see him kneeling in front of her with his hands tied. She’d like to hold the knife and slide it across his bare throat, and watch his lifeblood spill out onto the ground in front of him. She would exult in his death. She would dance for joy as his life slipped away.
She looked up and saw Catalina watching her. She realised that her breathing had quickened and her face felt hot. She took another mouthful of water and made herself calm down. Stay calm and in control, that’s what Nadia would have said. Stay vigilant.
* * *
No other men appeared that afternoon, so, as dusk set in, the women were told to get some rest. They dozed fitfully until they were woken in the middle of the evening. The two women who had entertained men in the afternoon were left alone. The other three were given new clothes to put on: low-cut tops, short skirts, boots with high heels, tight jackets. Sorina grabbed a scarf from the hallway as they left the terraced house. Barbu bundled them into a waiting car. Outside, it was overcast but the air was much warmer than it had been for the past few days. The gap-toothed man drove while Barbu told them what they were to do.
He gave them cards with the address of the house.
‘We will be close by and watching,’ he said. ‘We will negotiate with any men who stop for you. Get any men who talk to you to bring you back to our house. If they don’t, and take you to a hotel or somewhere else, come back as soon as you can with all the money. If you try to escape I will find you wherever you are and I will kill you. I will do it slowly and make you scream in agony before you die. Then I will tell your families back home how you chose to become street girls here in England and how you took to drugs. If you don’t want your families to know your shame, you must do just as I say.’
It was a short drive. The car pulled up in a quiet street and the two men pushed them out. The girls followed them a few hundred yards to a spot near a cluster of pubs and take-away premises.
They stood, close to the kerb, with the two men a few yards away, leaning against a wall.
Despite the milder weather, Sorina soon began to feel cold and she began to stamp her feet, walking up and down the pavement to keep her limbs from stiffening. At one point a car slid to a halt in front of her, and the window wound down. She could sense the occupants inspecting her. But before she could speak, the car moved slowly off, drawing to a halt again in front of the other two women. Sorina could see Catalina and the other woman step forward, followed by the gap-toothed man. Then Catalina got into the car, which accelerated away. Sorina stood watching. Tears gathered in her eyes. She heard voices, and turned to see who it was.
Wednesday Night
There were more people out in Weymouth town centre tonight, moving in and out of the pubs, cafés and restaurants. Sober people, drunks, chancers, even a cluster of elderly people leaving a nearby church hall. A folk band was playing in one of the pubs and Pillay and Nadia could hear the music drifting out of the door.
The two young women turned a corner into a side street. Not only were there more townspeople in the area, there were a couple of street girls there too. One was climbing into a car. Pillay stopped and turned aside to use her walkie-talkie unobserved. She held her hand up, indicating to Nadia that she should wait.
Back in her car, Sophie was feeling more confident about this evening’s operation. She’d been able to secure the help of several of the town’s squad car crews, who were ready to lend a hand if needed. The nearest car was cruising around the town centre, keeping an eye on the pubs as closing time approached.
The walkie-talkie crackled into life. Sophie radioed through to the squad car. She asked Marsh and Melsom, waiting in a car parked behind hers, to follow her. She drove carefully round the corner and pulled in. She watched as the two young women approached a small group of girls.
* * *
Pillay had told Nadia to wait while she radioed, but the young Romanian began to run past the small cluster of people. She was heading towards a solitary, slightly built figure standing some distance beyond the car, which was now moving away. Pillay hurried after Nadia, past the woman still standing at the roadside. She ran past two men, who seemed to be watching her. Then she realised that they had switched their attention from her to Nadia, some yards in front. The young Romanian had ignored everything she’d been told and had flung her arms around the slight figure standing forlornly by the roadside. Pillay heard movement behind her. She glanced back in time to see both men step forward. They were close behind her. She swung around to face them, loosening her coat.
‘Police! Stay where you are.’
One of the men stopped, confused. The other moved towards her, reaching inside his jacket. Pillay took several steps back, trying to maintain a distance between them, while pulling her stun-gun from its holster. She shouted as loud as she could.
‘Police! Taser. Taser. Stay where you are. I say again, primed taser. Stay where you are.’
The man kept coming, so she triggered the gun. He fell to the ground. A small figure rushed past Pillay towards the man, lying on the ground. It was the girl Nadia had gone to. The girl began to scream and kick at the body. Nadia ran up and tried to hold her back. Sophie, Marsh and Melsom arrived at the scene and were at last able to pull the hysterical girl away.
‘This is Sorina,’ said Nadia. ‘That is Barbu. He has raped her.’
The other man hovered in the background. He stood, his mouth open, watching the scene play out in front of him. The gap between his front teeth was unmistakable. Sophie pulled out her taser and smiled coolly at him.
‘Are you going to give us any problems?’
He shook his head.
‘Well, it’s nice to meet someone who’s so cooperative. Let me introduce myself. I’m Chief Inspector Sophie Allen. I’d like you to accompany us to the local police station, where I do believe you might be able to help us with our inquiries into a series of major crimes. And any help you do give us will, of course, be very much appreciated. Mr Smiffy, I believe.’ She turned to Marsh. ‘Just like that character from the Beano comic strip. Very original, aren’t they?’
Two squad cars screeched to a halt beside the small group, followed by a van. The detectives left the two men in charge of the uniformed officers. Sophie watched the two Romanian girls, still hugging each other. Then she turned to her sergeant.
‘Barry, let’s get the heavy mob ready. I think we’ve just cracked it. All we need is an address . . . And look what we have here!’
Sorina was holding out a small card printed with an address and several phone numbers. Marsh took it from her, looked at it and nodded.
‘Praise be. All my birthdays have come at once,’ said his boss.
* * *
It took less than twenty minutes to get the snatch squad in place. While they waited, Sophie got on the phone and arranged for a raid on the old cottage that had been the girls’ base over the previous few days. Nadia’s recent exposure to spoken English proved to be a real boon. She was able to translate Sorina’s description and give the local police a clear idea of the cottage’s whereabouts.
The raid on the terraced house yielded up one man, a relative youngster. After a few minutes of angry bluster, he said little else. Catalina was in one of the bedrooms with a client. When she finally realised she was safe from her abusers, she burst into tears. Her client was led away for questioning.
‘Blast,’ Marsh said, as the detectives finally left the house. ‘None of the leaders yet. I hope we’re not going to be disappointed.’
‘Don’t panic, Barry,’ said Sophie. ‘It’ll all fall into place, trust me.’
She looked strangely serene, almost distant.
* * *
They raided the cottage an hour later. The police snatch squad split into three small groups. Each approached the isolated building from a different direction, and each team was accompanied by a firearms officer. Sophie knocked on the door but there was no answer and no lights went on. The place looked deserted. Melsom emerged from one of the outhouses.
‘There’s a car parked beside one of the sheds.’
A tall, burly sergeant pointed at the door. He raised a heavy ram that he had carried from his van. ‘Shall I?’ he asked.
Sophie reached out and turned the handle. The door opened.
‘Sorry, Greg,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll get another opportunity soon.’
The team spread out, working its way slowly through the old building. They found some clothes and other items left by the young women, but the gang leaders had gone. They assembled in the large kitchen.
‘The stove has been on, ma’am,’ Marsh said, pointing across the room. ‘It’s still warm, and there are a few logs smouldering inside. Someone’s been here tonight.’
‘None of the guys we’ve taken in so far had a chance to use a mobile phone, did they?’ asked Sophie. ‘Am I right in that?’
Everyone shook their heads.
‘So they are unlikely to have been warned.’ She turned to Melsom. ‘There are a couple of coats hanging up in the lobby. Can you bring them through, Jimmy?’
Melsom returned with three, one of which was an expensive, man’s wool coat. Sophie felt through the pockets. She pulled out a mobile phone from a pocket on one side. It was still switched on. She felt the other side, slid her hand in carefully, and pulled out a handgun. She looked at Marsh.
‘I think there might be someone still here. The car, the phone, the stove, the mobile, and now this. They all point to it. And they couldn’t have done a runner even if we were seen arriving, not the way we came in — from behind the building as well as up the track. I want us to take another look, this time in every conceivable nook, cranny and hidey-hole. But we need to be careful. We mustn’t assume that this is the only gun. Check your vests and don’t take any chances.’
The team spread out through the building. This time they opened all the cupboards and wardrobes. In the bathroom Pillay spotted a laundry chest, covered with an ornate rug. She tapped Sergeant Greg Buller on the shoulder and pointed at it. He positioned himself at one end, pointing his gun at the middle of the chest. Pillay crouched opposite him and opened the lid. Ricky Frimwell tried to jump out but Buller floored him with his fist. In seconds, Pillay had him handcuffed.
Sophie was sitting at the large kitchen table when they brought him downstairs.
‘Well, well, well. Mr Smith. We met before at the old farm. When was that now? Goodness, exactly two weeks ago. Doesn’t time fly? And I understand you’ve changed your name since then. Ricky Frimwell? A much more interesting name. More
history
to it, I would say. History like the events at the Agglestone Rock. But I’d better not jump the gun. I’m sure all of that will come out over the next few days. You know, I just love this stage of a case, Mr Frimwell.’
He scowled.
‘Every forward step we make, we seem to find new problems, new obstacles. Even evidence of other crimes. And sometimes real horrors, like in this case. Perpetrated by people like you. Because that’s what they are, Mr Frimwell. Horrors.’ She paused. ‘Then the fog suddenly clears and we find you, and we find witnesses, and we find evidence. And you cannot begin to imagine the joy that brings me. I think I’ll just ask this nice sergeant here to make the arrest statement and leave it at that. But I will be speaking to you again, Mr Frimwell.’