Dead or Alive (21 page)

‘The Strathmore case! Don't tell me Cope's involved with that.'

‘I'll tell you what I know, Fiona, and you can make your own judgement.'

‘OK.'

‘I know that a man called Lee Dench was the key witness against Vince Formosa.'

‘I didn't know that until after he was killed and Formosa released,' said Fiona. ‘It was Cope's case and Dench was Cope's informer.'

‘True, and I assume you know that Formosa had him killed?'

‘That's the general feeling, but there's no proof.'

‘I assume CID were a bit perplexed as to how Formosa found out that Dench was Cope's informer.'

‘The word is that Dench's girlfriend opened her big mouth and it got back to Formosa.'

‘Well, I have another word. My information is that Cope was in Formosa's pocket all along – still is for that matter. That's how Formosa got to know about Dench.'

‘Bloody hell!'

‘Exactly.'

‘Where'd you get this from?'

‘My source is impeccable, and it's nothing to do with Cope having an affair with my wife. I believe Cope played a major role in getting me kicked off the force. I believe he was a crooked cop in London and that he's a crooked cop up here. I have no real proof of this, other than I'm sure Cope is in Formosa's pocket.'

‘I know Cope spread a lot of poison around about you,' said Fiona, ‘He was telling everybody that if they weren't careful they could all be tarred with the same brush as you regarding the MP's death. He was very good at it by all accounts. I was on holiday at the time but people were even warning
me
not to get too friendly with you.'

‘Good God! The man hardly knew me. I checked him out and he's apparently an expert in propaganda. The Met taught him that and he comes up here and uses it against me.'

‘That's because you were trying to turn people against him.'

‘With good reason. I certainly lost that battle.'

‘So Cope might know where the Strathmore children are,' said Fiona.

‘I think there's a fair chance – that's if they're still alive.'

‘Shouldn't we take all this upstairs, Sep?'

‘I have no proof. My impeccable source is only impeccable to me. I trust her implicitly, but such is her reputation that she'd get laughed out of court, that's if it even got to court.'

‘I assume this is your female acquaintance?'

‘It is. Before Cope's raid on the brothel she went in first and put her life at risk for those girls. She's an unusual woman.'

‘Were you there?'

‘I was, as it happens.'

‘I'm told one of the gang had his bits shot off and no one's been charged.'

‘His name was Dragos.'

‘Was?'

‘Yeah, he's dead.'

‘What exactly happened to him?'

Sep hesitated before answering this. Fiona was something of a feminist. The true story might bring her well and truly onside.

‘Dragos had raped her and degraded her. Urinated on her naked body after he'd finished with her. I was involved in a fight with him. He dropped his gun, and she picked it up. What would you have done?'

‘
She
did it?'

Sep nodded.

‘Bloody hell! She wasn't gonna miss an opportunity like that. God, I bet it felt good!'

‘She needed to show him who was really the boss.'

‘Oh my god! Wish we could do that to all rapists.'

‘She doesn't want it broadcasting.'

Fiona looked disappointed.

‘I mean it, Fiona. The last thing she wants is to end up in court on a murder charge and having to answer a load of questions about her being raped.'

‘Does Cope know she did it?'

‘He does, but when I told him she was part of my team and if she was arrested my information would dry up, he let us both walk.'

‘He didn't recognize you?'

‘No, but neither did you, and you know me a lot better than he does.'

‘So Cope saved your neck when he raided the place?'

‘He did, but he also got the collar of a lifetime due to us pointing him in the right direction. The best thing for him was that this gang has no connection with Formosa. It makes Cope look more of a Mr Clean than ever.'

‘You better believe it, Sep. It was bigtime. Dozens of girls in three houses, plus a fair amount of heroin and coke. He's aiming for DCI is Cope.'

‘Not if I can help it.'

‘If it helps at all, I don't like him. He's an oily bugger.' She stood up and walked around the room in deep thought. ‘Is there anything specific you want me to do?'

‘I just want you to keep an eye on him, Fiona. It'd help if you could get yourself on the Strathmore case.'

‘I'm already on it, Sep. He asked me today.'

‘Anything specific he wanted you to do?'

‘Nothing yet. Just to keep my eyes and ears open for information about the kids. He's of the opinion that Formosa will try to extort money off Peter Strathmore.'

‘Well, that's a fairly obvious opinion. Is he of the opinion that they're still alive?'

‘He thinks it's possible that Formosa's kept them alive so they can talk to their dad over the phone, but he doesn't think Formosa will honour any deal. He'll just take the money and kill the kids. What do you think?'

‘I don't know enough about Formosa to have an opinion on that.'

‘Would your female acquaintance know anything?'

‘She's already told me all she knows, but she's got her ear to the ground.'

Fiona sat down again. ‘A thought has struck me,' she said.

‘What's that?'

‘Strathmore's a rich man. He'd pay big money to a private investigator who got his kids back.'

‘Fiona, all I'm trying to do is get my job back.'

‘I know. But this might be a situation where us coppers, having to abide by the rules, find ourselves hamstrung. A private detective with your unusual talents might be able to circumvent a few rules.'

‘Yeah. I might circumvent myself into prison or worse still, into a bullet.'

‘It was just a thought. Those kids need all the help they can get.'

I
t was the twelfth week of their captivity. James and Milly were being kept in a cellar because cellars were habitats that criminals understood. As a boy, Formosa had often been locked in a cellar and it was where he'd felt the most helpless. He felt it was an ideal place to keep his enemies and an ideal place to subjugate those who needed putting in their place, and, of course, a cellar made an ideal prison and a man in his line of work needed a decent prison. He knew that, of all habitats, cellars were the most secure and soundproof. This cellar was beneath the centre of a building, surrounded by other empty cellars, all owned by Formosa. It had no access to daylight but it did have plumbing in the form of its own toilet and washbasin with cold, running water. Formosa didn't want the kids stinking his cellar out. They were fed meals through a four inch gap beneath the door. Cold food once a day; ten slices of bread and either two apples or two bananas each and they had one plastic cup from which to drink tap water. These were basic survival rations. No point wasting money on anything more as these kids weren't going to live too long. This cellar and these rations would be all they would ever know. His men had orders never to speak to them, never to give them any information about why they were there, what was going to happen to them, when they might be going home. All Milly had to live for was James's optimistic guesswork.

‘We've been kidnapped 'cause Dad's rich. When Dad pays the money, they have to let us go. It always happens to rich kids.'

‘Why hasn't Dad paid the money yet? We've been here flipping weeks.'

‘I know. I think it's because they're maybe asking for too much. Dad'll have to do a deal with them. Dad's great at doing deals with people.'

‘I wish he'd hurry up. If we get two bananas tomorrow can I have them both? I don't like the apples they give us. They give me tummy ache. I've still got today's apple.'

‘OK.'

James wasn't a great fan of the apples they were being given but he knew it would do Milly good to have something to look forward to. Today he'd have an extra apple and tomorrow he'd live on his ten slices of bread and hope they'd bought it fresh that day, for a change.

His greatest worry was that his sister might cry herself into permanent hysterics. He tried to distract her from their situation by teaching her stuff she should be learning at school right now. Mainly he taught her mental arithmetic. Whatever he taught her had to be mental, with them having no means of writing anything down. He also taught her the art of storytelling for when she would have to do compositions at school. She enjoyed this more than the arithmetic as he often made up stories just for her benefit.

‘What's seven nines?'

‘Sixty-three.'

‘Blimey! I couldn't have done that when I was eight. You're coming on our kid. Seven eights?'

‘Fifty-six.'

‘Twenty seven divided by three?'

Slight hesitation then, ‘Nine.'

‘That's it. You know as much as I know. OK, we need a new subject.'

‘What about songs?' suggested Milly.

‘That's a great idea. From now on it's stories and songs. Do you know
There was an old man called Michael Finnegan
?'

‘No.'

He sang it to her, knowing she'd want to learn it. Michael Finnegan was a simple song which required repetition, and repetition was handy in their enclosed world. It was how they survived, by entertaining themselves. James considered that silence was their enemy. Silence led to her tears, and Milly's tears would lead to his tears before much longer. James knew he couldn't afford to cry. He was in charge and his mum and dad would expect him to look after his sister.

The cellar had no heating so the children had to be grateful that they'd been picked up in their school clothes, which included an outdoor coat. They each slept on a foam-rubber mattress, which had a thin woollen blanket but no pillow. There was a single bulb in the room which switched itself off on a timer at eight p.m. each day and came back on at eight a.m. When the light went out the darkness was so intense that the children couldn't see their own hands in front of their eyes. Should they need the toilet during this darkness, they had learned to feel their way there along a wall. Both had become quite adept at this. They had no real sense of time and assumed the light came on to indicate it was daytime, although their days often seemed interminably long. They were counting these electric light days and had got up to eighty-four.

‘That's twelve weeks,' said Milly. ‘Why is it taking Dad twelve weeks to come and get us?'

James didn't know the answer to this. Was he right about them being kidnapped for money – kidnapped by people who wouldn't even speak to him? Grown-ups often did stuff he didn't understand. When food was next pushed under the door, he shouted out.

‘Excuse me. Can you tell us why we're here, please?'

It wasn't the first time he'd asked this question and it wasn't the first time he'd got no reply, just the sound of heavy feet going up the stone steps and the sound of a door opening and closing. He looked at Milly who had tears in her eyes. She knew her brother was losing confidence, and he was all she had.

‘Sorry,' she said. ‘I can't stop crying. I know it's not helping.'

James attempted a smile. ‘It's OK,' he said. ‘Cry more, pee less, that's what Dad used to say when I cried. It always made me laugh and I stopped crying – that's why he said it.'

Milly tried to smile back but failed. She hung her head and asked in a quiet and hesitant voice, ‘I don't feel well. Are we … are we going to die in here, James?'

‘No, no, don't be silly. They're keeping us here for money and Dad'll pay up even if it leaves him skint.'

‘So why hasn't he paid them?'

‘Dunno. There's stuff that grown-ups do that we don't understand. Sometimes we think stuff's easy to do when it isn't. Like going to a bank and drawing out a million quid.'

‘A million quid? Do you think Dad's got a million quid?'

‘I expect so. All rich people have a million quid at least.'

‘He's not going to be too pleased with us if we've cost him a million quid,' said Milly. ‘I only get three pounds fifty pocket money. How much do you get?'

‘I get five pounds but that's because I'm older than you, and I have to keep my room tidy or I don't get anything. He's very careful with his money is Dad. Oliver Crenshawe gets ten quid and his dad works for our dad.'

‘Do you think that's why Dad hasn't paid the money yet?'

‘Dunno.'

‘I bet if Dad has to pay a million quid, bang goes our pocket money.'

‘Maybe,' said James, who knew his sister was trying her best to talk as if they lived in a normal world with normal problems such as pocket money. He'd had an abnormal thought preying on his mind for the whole twelve weeks of their incarceration. He hadn't mentioned it to Milly but now this ten-year-old boy needed to share his fear.

‘I'm really glad these men aren't doing anything nasty to us,' he said.

‘What? I think locking us in this cellar's very nasty.'

‘I know, but …'

James had been made aware of child molesters by his mother and, much more graphically, by some of the kids at school, especially Oliver Crenshawe.

‘But what?'

‘I'm just glad they're not coming in here to, erm … to hurt us.'

‘Oh? Does that happen sometimes?'

‘Sometimes, but it's not happening to us, is it?'

‘I hope they don't come to hurt us.'