The Major Crimes Team - Vol 1: Lines of Enquiry (5 page)

*    *    *    *

Chisholm kept updating the Facebook page with statuses designed to draw the vigilante group away from Joserand’s position. When he’d led them into a bottle neck he would spring his trap.

Before he dared spring the trap he would have to locate Joserand and have him collected.

His repeated texts had gone un-answered. It didn’t surprise him. If he was in Joserand’s position he wouldn’t be sending texts. He’d be running for his life.

Lauren and Bhaki were circling the area looking for Joserand. Both were relying on him to pinpoint an exact location though.

Looking at his mobile he willed it to beep or ring, to show any kind of message or contact from Joserand.

Facebook was updated with a new status which caused him to gasp in disbelief.

Think U guys may be mistaken. Pretty sure he’s just ran along Barrowvale Road.

Bloody hell. Joserand must have taken fright and crossed Wigton Road. He must be terrified.

Calling Lauren he re-directed her towards Barrowvale Road while leaving Bhaki to watch for any sign of the gang moving in that direction.

As he spoke he used a different profile to post to the group.

U r wrong!!! Hes jst gone by me hes running like fuck so u better be quick.

The response was immediate.

Where r u?

Chisholm glanced at the map on the wall and found the perfect place to spring his trap.

By oakdale school

A flood of vitriolic comments came after his post, each poster calling Joserand worse than shit for going towards a school.

*    *    *    *

Evans ran through the hospital as fast as he could, concern for Janet powering him through the sterile atrium.

His watch told him she would be in surgery for another hour at least but he had to be there. He had to be by her side, or as close as he could be.

Joserand and all the others could look after themselves. His place was here with his wife, even if the here in question was a hospital waiting room. Speaking to a receptionist at the main desk, he was told to go to the Beech ward.

The receptionist had a patient manner and friendly smile, but neither was enough to lift the gloom of his spirits.

Janet had been withdrawn enough after losing the baby, now she’d lost the chance of having another he didn’t know how he could begin to lift her spirits.

Right now he wasn’t sure he could lift his own. He felt like raging at the injustices of the world but knew better. Theirs was a fate many couples faced and there was nothing or nobody to blame for it. Life had decided to take a kick at Mr & Mrs Harry Evans and there was nothing to be gained from taking a kick back.

Sitting alone in the waiting room, he made repeated vows he would do whatever it took to put the smile back into Janet’s eyes.

*    *    *    *

Hiding behind a garage, Troy Joserand reached into his hoodie’s front pocket. His grasping fingers could only feel the keys to his temporary home and his wallet. Checking again he still couldn’t find his mobile.

Reasoning it must have fallen out when he was running, he wracked his brains as to what he should do next.

Going back and looking for it may lead him into danger; yet doing nothing wouldn’t get him to safety.

Edging his head around the garage, he scanned the street in both directions. There was no movement to be seen. No pedestrians walked the streets and the road carried no traffic.

Setting a brisk pace, he strode back the way he came, his eyes swapping between the ground and the road. A hundred yards from his hiding place, he found his mobile lying on the pavement. Snatching it up, he clutched it tight and sprinted back to the garage.

Secure in his hiding place once more, he took a proper look at the phone. Its screen was cracked and there was a nasty dent on one corner.

Shit. Please work. Please let me call that copper.

The metrics of the screen were off by a half inch, but Joserand managed to call Chisholm. He’d made a mental note of the street he was on as Chisholm had told him to.

‘DS Chisholm? It’s Troy. I’m on Barrowvale Road … about halfway along. I’m behind some garages.’

Troy listened for a few seconds and then hung up.

Less than three minutes later he heard a pair of short blasts on a car horn followed by two longer ones.

Poking his head round the corner he saw a red BMW M3. Approaching it with caution he saw a pretty blonde sitting in the driver’s seat. A warrant card was held out of the open window.

‘You’re safe. DS Chisholm led them into a trap. They’re rounding up the last of them now.’

*    *    *    *

Evans sprang to his feet as Janet was wheeled out of the lift. Her eyes found him. A single tear escaped her left eye and rolled down her cheek.

Not knowing what to say, Evans said the first thing he could think of. ‘I love you so much Janet Evans. We’re gonna get through this. Together you and I can get through anything. When you’re ready we can look at adoption or fostering.’

He took her hand in his and held her fingers in a gentle embrace as the hospital porter pushed her bed towards the ward.

Steering her bed into a vacant space the porter went to pass the doctor’s notes to the nurse sitting behind the desk.

‘Harry.’ Janet’s voice was a hoarse whisper as her fingers sought out the button which controlled the morphine drip. ‘I lost our baby because I was raped.’

Dealing with the Drugs

DC Lauren Phillips pulled on a black skirt and turned to examine herself in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. Satisfied with what she saw, she picked up her keys and a clutch bag.

Today was the first step towards getting the answers she needed. Once her questions were answered she’d be able to inform DI Harry Evans of what she’d learned. Until she had some hard evidence, she was on her own.

The initial facts she had were sketchy at best. The one concrete lead she’d got had come from a source too scared to testify.

Discussing it with Evans had been a disaster. Preoccupied with his wife’s rape, He’d been more caustic than usual. Both her professional skills and her personal interest in the case had come under fire, leaving her smarting at his put-downs.

Determined not to let this one slip, she’d decided to pursue the case in her own time until she could gather what was needed to prompt a formal investigation.

*    *    *    *

Parking behind a row of cars on Peter Street, Lauren locked her car and click-clacked her way towards Finkle Street. The three hundred yard walk through the centre of Workington saw her draw stares from shoppers and people going about their everyday business.

She knew her clothing was more akin to a night on the town than four o’clock in the afternoon but she’d dressed this way for a reason. Lauren didn’t care about the disapproving looks she got from the women or the mental undressing of the men she encountered. Blessed with a pretty face and shapely body, Lauren knew she looked good and used her charms to her advantage whenever possible.

Reaching the club, Lauren tried the door only to find it locked. Three rounds of knocking later it was answered by a scruffy man in his early twenties. Lauren waited for the obligatory scan of her figure.

When Scruffy was finished examining her body he took a moment to look at Lauren’s face. ‘You here for the interview?’

‘That’s right. I’m Monique.’  Lauren held out a hand, hoping Scruffy was the one who’d interview her. The way he’d looked at her, she was sure he’d give her the job.

‘Mr Nicholson is through here.’

Scruffy turned on his heel and led her into the club. Looking around Lauren saw pretty much what she’d expected to see. A long bar filled one wall, while the opposite side was lined with leather bench seats arranged in a series of crescents. At the far end of the narrow room were a series of booths with red velour curtains hanging from brass rails.

‘Grab a seat. I’ll get Mr Nicholson.’ Scruffy took off towards a door marked ‘Private’ behind the bar.

The centre of the room was dominated by two poles, set on waist high platforms. Each of the walls had burgundy flocked wallpaper and pictures of models posing in their underwear.

The smell of stale beer and unspent testosterone hung in the air. The lighting was muted although there were a series of unlit spotlights pointing at the twin stages.

Lauren supposed she ought to feel nervous applying for a job as a lap-dancer, but she didn’t feel even the slightest twinge of apprehension. An exhibitionist by nature, she enjoyed the attention her body got her and she took a care to always make the most of her assets.

The higher purpose which brought her here eradicated any fears she may have about exposing her body to a bunch of strangers. The biggest worries for Lauren were failing to get the evidence she needed or her superiors finding out and firing her.

Either would spell disaster and mean Peter Nicholson getting off scot free. She’d researched Nicholson on the Police National Database and had found him to be a smooth if shady operator. Linked to many petty criminals, he’d managed to amass a share of Cumbria’s organised crime without stepping on the toes of the Leighton family with enough weight enough to start a turf war. Arrested numerous times, he’d never been charged thanks to a rapacious lawyer who always found a way to nullify investigations.

Lauren recognised the man following Scruffy as Peter Nicholson. Well groomed, the black hair above his handsome face had the first showings of silvery grey.

Rising to her feet, Lauren extended a hand. ‘Hi I’m Monique.’

Nicholson took the hand and smiled, his appraisal of her was far quicker than Scruffy’s.

‘Peter Nicholson.’ He took a seat and gestured for her to do the same. When she was seated he turned to Scruffy. ‘You can go now. I’ll take it from here.’

Scruffy managed to look disappointed while scowling at his boss’s back. As he disappeared through the door behind the bar, Nicholson picked up the clipboard he’d carried with him.

‘I’ve a few questions for you and then I’d like you to demonstrate your dancing skills. Are you okay with that?’

‘Sure.’ Lauren nodded and hoped he didn’t see how false her smile was.

‘First off, have you worked as a dancer before?’

‘No.’

Nicholson’s eyebrows lifted a half inch. ‘Do you know what’s expected of dancers in a place like this?’

‘Of course. Men will pay me to strip for them.’ Lauren didn’t mention she’d researched lap dancing on the internet and had been to the lap dancing club in Carlisle where she’d had a couple of dances to supplement what she’d learned online.

‘And you’re okay with that?’

‘That depends on how much they expect for their money.’

It was Nicholson’s turn to nod. ‘The rates in here are ten pound for topless and twenty for nude.’

‘What would I get from that?’ Lauren cursed herself. She hadn’t wanted to come across as too intelligent and here she was turning the interview around and setting the questions.

‘You get the full amount. We charge a dancing fee of seventy-five pounds per night. Anything the dancers make over and above that is their own business.’

‘Okaaay.’ Lauren stretched the word as if considering his proposal. She didn’t care about the money. Financial gain wasn’t the reason she was applying for this job.

‘Technically you won’t be working for me, you’ll be self employed and therefore you’ll be responsible for paying your own taxes.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Make no mistake though.’ A steely look touched Nicholson’s eyes. ‘I’m the one in charge and the dancers all answer to me.’

‘Of course.’

‘So why are you applying for a job here, you’re smarter than the usual girls who apply?’

Lauren hesitated as if reluctant to answer. ‘I’ve got credit card debt I need to get rid of. When that’s cleared I want to start saving for a house. I’ve been in debt too long and I’m not having it anymore.’

Her answer was designed to show commitment to the job, to show she was in it for the long haul and wouldn’t be leaving after a couple of weeks.

‘Sounds familiar.’ A wry smile touched Nicholson’s lips. ‘Now, getting to the meat of the sandwich, do you think you’re going to be able to strip knowing men are staring at you?’

Lauren stood up and gestured at her clothes. ‘I’ve just walked through the middle of Workington dressed like this. How much of a problem do you think I have with people looking at me?’

Nicholson’s eyes scanned her body from top to toe for a second time. She felt his eyes as they slid down the lacy top she wore and onto the miniskirt.

Turning around she let him see the transparent back of her top which showed she wasn’t wearing a bra. Lifting the hem of her skirt a she gave him a glimpse of her stocking tops.

‘So you’re not shy then.’ Nicholson smiled as he spoke. ‘I want to see you dance. I need to know that you’ve got the moves and that you’re not all talk.’

‘Fair enough.’ Lauren had expected no less. Nobody in their right minds would employ a stripper without seeing them strip.

Nicholson walked over to the bar and fiddled with a music system. As he returned a dance tune filled the otherwise silent club.

Lauren waited until he was seated and then mimicking the dancer she’d hired in Carlisle, she rested his hands on his knees. Gyrating in time with the beat she began a slow and sensual lap-dance.

Nicholson watched her with a cold detachment which would have un-nerved her had she not felt the bulge of his erection. One by one, she went through the moves she’d learned from her experience in Carlisle.

When the track ended she was naked apart from stockings and suspenders. Taking a seat opposite Nicholson, she put her clothes beside her and looked him in the eye.

‘So, have I got the job?’

‘Yes. You can start tonight. We open at nine.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure you’ve never done this before.’

Lauren reached for her thong. ‘Not for money.’

*    *    *    *

Harry Evans laid down his book and looked across at his wife. She was holding a book of her own but he could see from her glazed expression she wasn’t reading it.

Since telling him of her rape she had become a different person. The thousand watt smile had dimmed and while she pretended to put on a brave face, he could see she was distracted by dark thoughts.

He knew the dangers of dark thoughts, how they possessed the mind, influencing every decision, every word spoken and the tone it was delivered in.

His own dark thoughts had sent him to the brink of oblivion before he mustered enough self-control to haul himself back. It wasn’t for himself he returned, it was for Janet. He knew she needed him more than he’d ever been needed before.

He’d reported the rape as was his duty. Yet he’d tried to find the rapist himself so he could enact a different kind of justice. A biblical justice delivered with an un-lubricated baseball bat. A medieval justice.

His colleagues in the police had kept him away from the investigation, held him back when he’d tried to attack Derek Yates in his cell.

He knew they’d done the right thing, but he’d happily give everything he owned for two minutes alone with the man who’d raped his wife.

His and Janet’s lives would never be the same thanks to Yates’s actions. They’d be forever tarnished by loss. Stained by memories and thoughts of what might have been.

Reaching across the couch he took Janet’s hand in his. ‘They’ve got him. He’s going down for life and will never see the light of day again.’

Janet said nothing. Her face didn’t even register she’d heard his words.

He squeezed her fingers just hard enough to get her attention. ‘I’m off shift at six tomorrow. I’ll take you to that place you like at Keswick for a bite to eat if you like.’

When Janet spoke her voice was flat and lifeless, her attempts at normality failing. ‘I can’t, I said I’d cover for Jessica so I’ll be there until midnight. Maybe next week eh?’

‘Whenever you want.’ Evans planted a tender kiss on her knuckles and lifted his book.

Try as he might, he couldn’t get the words on the page to focus. His eyes were forever travelling further afield, searching for a past happiness no longer visible.

He knew his team were behind him and he appreciated the way they were absorbing his bad temper and ignoring his abusive comments. He couldn’t tell them as much, but he’d take them for a drink or spring for the fast food the next time they had to work late. Chisholm would understand his intentions and explain them to Bhaki and Lauren if they didn’t work it out for themselves.

*    *    *    *

Lauren entered Shakers and looked around seeking either Nicholson or Scruffy. Finding Scruffy at the far end of the room exchanging angry words with an emaciated girl, Lauren approached in such a way that she neither interrupted them nor remained unseen.

As she got closer Lauren could see the girl sported recent bruising around her left eye. Makeup had been used to disguise any discolouring, but it couldn’t hide the swelling or the burst blood vessels in the corner of her eye.

Scruffy turned his head and flicked his eyes at Lauren. A nod of recognition was followed by a raised finger.

Turning back to the unfortunate girl Scruffy jabbed a finger towards her face. ‘Piss off home and don’t come back until you’re fit to work.’

Every instinct Lauren possessed as a police officer screamed at her to find out how the girl had got a black eye, but she knew it would unmask her to Scruffy. Burying the urge to inquire, she gave a tight smile instead. ‘Is there anything I need to know before I start?’

Scruffy looked her up and down, his eyes resting on her breasts for an uncomfortable length of time, when his assessment was complete a finger pointed to the back of the room.

‘The booths are over there, the customers come in the front door and there’s a small changing room at the back where you can keep your stuff.’

‘Got it.’

‘If a customer tries to grab you, you push his hand away. If he tries again, yell for help. One of the bouncers will deal with him.’

‘Fair enough.’ Lauren wasn’t worried about defending herself against wandering hands. Looking and dressing the way she did, she was accustomed to having her bum pinched or the feel of a sweaty hand attempting to take liberties.

‘As far as your own conduct is concerned, if we hear of you making propositions or of you sleeping with the customers after your shift then you’re out on your arse.’