The Major Crimes Team - Vol 1: Lines of Enquiry (8 page)

She didn’t need her detective skills to work out Katya was in charge of the operation and was referring the men onto Candy.

Dropping her bag into the changing room, she interrupted a hissed exchange between Katya and Scarlett. Candy was nowhere to be seen. Whatever they were arguing about, it was clear Scarlett was saying no to Katya.

Scarlett stormed out, Lauren pretended she hadn’t noticed their argument, and began to change into the outfit she’d chosen for tonight’s shift.

‘I want talk to you.’

‘What is it?’ Lauren looked at Katya, expecting another bout of antagonism.

‘We get off on … how you say? Wrong leg?’

Lauren didn’t correct her. Didn’t trust herself to speak. Whatever Katya was up to, it seemed an olive branch was about to be offered. Inside her chest, her heart thumped hard metronomic beats as adrenaline coursed through her system.

‘True.’

‘I be bitch for no reason. Am sorry.’

‘Fair enough.’

Lauren bent down and picked up one of her shoes, desperate to appear cool even though she could feel the prickles of excited sweat starting to form on her body. Balancing on one leg she wriggled the shoe onto her foot: waiting for Katya to continue while trying to appear indifferent.

‘You good dancer. Men like you, want lots of dances.’

Lauren threw out a baited hook. ‘Shame they don’t want more dances. I need every penny I can get.’

‘Do you want make extra money?’ Katya gave the smile of a predator looking at wounded prey.

‘Depends what I have to do to make it. I ain’t doing porn or sleeping with anyone.’

‘Is not porn.’ Katya straightened her back, indignance written all over her face. ‘I not prostitute.’

‘Sorry.’

Lauren tried to put contrition on her face as she thought of a way to get the conversation back on track. It wasn’t her intention to halt Katya’s flow, but she knew she had to stay in the role she’d assumed.

Katya rescued her. ‘Way to make money is easier.’

‘What is it then, what would I have to do?’

‘When men ask for deluxe, superior or executive dance you give ten pound dance and special packet. Take fifty pounds off men. You keep ten for dance and get extra ten for delivering packages. Rest goes to Kevin at end of night.’

Lauren could feel the power of Katya’s gaze as she pretended to consider the proposal. This was exactly what she wanted and by mentioning Kevin, Katya also implicated Scruffy and by extension Nicholson.

She just hoped Chisholm’s gadget had recorded the conversation. It had worked fine when they’d tested it, but too often, technology failed at the critical moment.

Remembering the discussions with Evans and the rest of the team, she knew she would have to play things very cleverly. They recording they were getting wouldn’t stand up in court and all the evidence they had so far would expose Lauren’s undercover role. What they needed to do was catch Kevin or Katya with the drugs on them and press them for a confession. If either could be turned, they would be able to bring down Nicholson or at the very least force the closure of this club.

‘I’ll do it.’ Lauren looked Katya in the eye. ‘I’m guessing I shouldn’t ask what’s in the packages should I?’

‘Up to you.’ Katya reached into her bag and pulled out a brown paper bag. ‘Is five of each in here. All marked.’

Lauren peeked into the bag and saw a collection of paper wraps. Each was marked with a letter identifying the dance it belonged to.

Leaning close to Katya, Lauren whispered in her ear. ‘Which one is the charlie, and do I get a discount?’

Katya’s smile was rapacious as she digested Lauren’s question.

‘Is marked with S. No discount, but is good stuff. Worth every penny.’

Lauren stashed the content of the paper bag in her purse and walked into the main room. She had to fight to keep the smile off her face. If Chisholm had heard the conversation with Katya, he would be beginning to mobilise the troops.

The plan was that she was to pretend to sell out of the drugs and ask for more. Once she’d done that, she was to go outside for a cigarette. Once outside she would be seen by Chisholm who would issue the order to go. She’d have a minute to get to the bar along the street and lose herself in the crowd so she wasn’t picked up by the local plod when they raided the club.

If anything went wrong or there was a need for her to leave, Amir Bhaki would walk into the club.

Working throughout the evening, Lauren was only asked for a special dance once. Complimenting the man on his shirt, she did her best to describe him so he could be allowed to slip through the net lest his arrest lead to her exposure.

Lauren caught Katya’s attention, after completing several dances. A moment later she saw Katya excuse herself from the man she’d been trying to entice into a dance.

‘Yes?’

‘I need some more S. I’ve none left and only two E.’

Katya’s eyes sparkled. ‘I speak Kevin. Get more for you. You got money?’

Lauren took Katya into the nearest booth and handed over a sheaf of notes. ‘I’m going out for a quick smoke. I’ll get them when I come back in.’

Pulling a pack of cigarettes from her purse, Lauren made her way to the door. As she walked through the room she saw Katya making her way to the bar.

Stepping into the street, Lauren gave a shiver as the night air enshrouded her exposed skin. She’d chosen to wear a skimpy dress which would be alluring to the customers of Shakers, yet still decent enough to be worn on a night out in a town like Workington.

As she strode along the street as fast as her heels would allow, Lauren drew on a cigarette while calling Chisholm for an update.

Hearing his voice she went straight into her report without any salutations. ‘I’m out and clear and on my way to the Blue Bell now.’

Lauren pressed the phone against her ear as a souped-up Clio trundled by, a thumping bass accompanying its movement like thudding footsteps.

‘What’s that? … cool.’

Flicking her cigarette butt down a drain, she popped a mint into her mouth and slunk into the Blue Bell. Making her way to the ladies, she found a vacant cubicle and whipped her dress over her head and turned it inside out. The reversible dress was transformed from fire-engine red to coal black.

Leaving the cubicle, she washed the thick makeup from her face and tied her long hair into a pony tail. With her transformation complete, Lauren made her back into the crowded bar.

Picking up an empty wine glass from a table, Lauren made her way to the bar and stepped into a space vacated by a large woman with distressed hair and too many ear piercings. ‘Can I get another Pinot Grigio please gorgeous?’

The barman who served her was all smiles and she flirted with him as he served her. Using all her charm, she reeled him in until he was asking for her number. She gave a false one along with a fictional name.

With her alibi established, Lauren stepped to the back of the room and waited for her phone to ring. The plan was that she’d wait in the Blue Bell until the raid was in progress, then slip out of a back door where Amir Bhaki would be waiting to pick her up. Chisholm had checked in advance and the back entrance of the Blue Bell wasn’t covered by any CCTV cameras.

It was essential to the whole investigation that Lauren wasn’t identified as the source of the tip-off they were acting upon. They’d even covered her tracks to the extent that the mobile she was using tonight was a throwaway one. Her own left at home so it couldn’t identify her presence at the club.

Slipping out the back door as arranged, Lauren climbed into Bhaki’s car and looked at him.

Seeing the grave expression on his face, Lauren felt her stomach drop. ‘What’s wrong, has the raid not gone ahead?’

‘Yeah. They’re in there now. I watched them go in. They’ll get them.’

‘So what’s wrong?’

Bhaki didn’t answer until he was stopped by the traffic lights at the corner of Washington Street.

‘It’s the guv’s wife.’

Lauren’s stomach sank another foot. Whatever Bhaki was about to say wouldn’t be good news.

‘He found her a couple of hours ago. He tried to resuscitate her but couldn’t. The paramedics couldn’t either.’

‘No!’

The one word couldn’t begin to express the anguish Lauren felt for Evans. He’d tried to be stoic throughout recent events but she knew how much it was affecting him. She’d seen the effort it took him to continue working, to hold it together in the face of criminals trying to get under his skin.

Questions started to present themselves. Unanswerable questions, arriving unbidden. There was just one question that mattered to her right now.

‘How’s the guv?’

Bhaki shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Chisholm tried calling him but he’s not answering. We only found out when Jenny from Control told Chisholm.’

Another question pressed at her mind. One she should probably have asked first. As she asked it she recognised it for the straw grasping it was. ‘How did it happen? Was she attacked again?’

Again Bhaki’s head shook. ‘There’s no details yet, but there’s no word of suspicious circumstances.’

Washed Up

DC Amir Bhaki parked in a gateway and struggled into his coat before opening the door. Torrents of rain bounced off the windscreen as he eased his way out of the car and approached the two disconsolate PCs looking over the bridge.

‘Why have you called out Major Crimes, surely this is just a blockage?’

The older of the two PCs looked at Bhaki with a hint of exasperation that didn’t just come from having to stand in the rain. ‘Have a deeks yoursel’ and you’ll see why.’

Bhaki leaned over the parapet and looked down at the roiling mass of water and driftwood, fighting to get through the narrow arch of the bridge. Nothing looked amiss at first but the longer he looked, the more he saw.

Stretched between two oak trees on either side of the river, a wire rope hung in the water. Looking more closely at the tree on the left bank, Bhaki saw a second almost completely submerged wire rope.

The twin ropes had entangled a number of trees washed down the river by the recent heavy rains, their bulky stems and branches forming a makeshift dam solidified by countless smaller pieces of driftwood caught up in their branches.

One thing Harry Evans always impressed on his team was to look for what wasn’t there, missing items which were clues only by their absence.

Looking down at the trees entangled in the wire, Bhaki saw heavy branches but no root ball protruding from the water. While the bottom part of a tree would be the heaviest end, the raging waters would soon strip away the soil encased in the root ball.

Peering harder Bhaki spied a cleanly cut end at the bottom of a tree. The suggestions his mind was making were exhilarating yet disturbing. Raising his eyes from the torrent he looked upstream and found a possible motive peeking between the squalls of rain.

With help from the first rays of morning light he saw the outlines of a building. Peering with more intensity he saw timber boards lining the gable. The front which overlooked the normally idyllic river showed huge windows rent open by river-carried flotsam. A doorway in the gable showed just three feet above the water giving him a ready scale of the destruction.

The whole of the ground floor would be a mess of silt, twisted debris and foul water. The clean-up would take weeks if not months and would cost many thousands of pounds. 

Bhaki’s memory kicked in and he recalled a news item about the ruined building. It was to be a new restaurant. Owned by one of the county’s leading chefs, its opening was anticipated with excitement by many local foodies.

Realising the seriousness of the situation for the first time, Bhaki reached for his mobile. The destruction to the restaurant was a secondary concern. The first thing to do was ensure there was no risk to civilians or animals from the rising flood water. Then there was the issue of the safety of those below the bridge to consider. If the makeshift dam was breeched or the wire rope broke, the ensuing torrent of water would cause untold destruction to properties further downstream.

Bhaki climbed into his car as DS Neil Chisholm answered his call. ‘It’s Amir. This shout I’ve just had is a bad one. Someone’s created a dam at the bridge. If it gives way there’s no telling what danger it will pose to anyone living downstream.’

He paused to listen for a few seconds. ‘There’s two PCs here. I’ll get one of them to go to a farm I can see at the end of the road. The farmer there should be able to tell them of anyone who lives in the first mile or two. The other can stop all traffic from crossing the bridge.’

Neither man mentioned Bill Barker, but each of their thoughts went to the PC who had lost his life in the floods of 2009 when a bridge he was standing on was washed away by flood water.

Listening as Chisholm spoke, Bhaki watched the rain bounce off his windscreen as it was whipped by a ferocious wind.

‘The river is in a little valley and the road is built up to create a natural dam. The only way the water can get away is to go under the bridge or swell until it comes over the road.’ Bhaki wiped his forehead. ‘I dare say you could get a digger in to create another route for the water to go but to do that you’d have to dig up the road. It may be better to wait for the rain to stop and the water to drain away naturally provided the dam holds. I’ll get these PCs mobilised and call you back. Can you find out what the weather forecast is?’

Approaching the two PCs who had retreated from the centre of the bridge, Bhaki issued some instructions. The elder of the two assessed his orders with a canny gaze. ‘Can you use your car to block one end of the road? I’ll keep traffic away from t’other.’

Bhaki nodded as the man headed away to do his task. From the purposeful set to his stride, he suspected the man knew of a barn or building where he could shelter from the rain.

Leaving the other PC to see the farmer and alert anyone else who may be at risk, Bhaki climbed into his car and pulled out of the parking space. Building up as much speed as possible he crossed the bridge as quickly as possible then slammed on the brakes to negotiate a sharp corner. Reaching a small junction at the end of the road, he manoeuvred the car back and forth until it blocked the road. Walking back to the bridge with the cold rain stinging any exposed skin, he started to chew over possible motives for blocking the river.

The obvious answer was that it was someone with a grudge against the chef behind the new restaurant. Experience however, had taught him obvious answers were correct on very few occasions.

Trying to get his mind to work as laterally as the rain, Bhaki guessed at other possibilities.

Was the real target further downstream, intended as a victim of the dam breaking? If so who, a farmer or householder with property adjacent to the river? What about the chef, had he run into money problems and sabotaged his own restaurant for an insurance payout?

Reaching the edge of the bridge he looked down at the swirling orange maelstrom once more and saw the water roiling as it fought to find a way past the blockade. Peering at the tree around which the wire ropes were moored he saw no sign of the wires.

Bhaki was filled with a further sense of dread as he realised the water level was rising. The deeper the water got, the more pressure would be applied to the dam and the wire ropes which held the trees. Sooner or later the wires would snap or one of the trees would be uprooted. When that happened there would be nothing to stop the entire body of water hurtling downstream with a cargo of hefty trees ready to bulldoze any obstacle.

Sprinting the two hundred yards back to his car, Bhaki thumbed his phone and called Chisholm again. As he relayed his concerns, he saw a marked police car pull up behind his Astra. He didn’t recognise the face in the passenger seat but he could tell from the pips on the epaulettes that a Chief Inspector had arrived.

Ending his call with Chisholm, Bhaki approached the passenger side of the police car and showed his warrant card to the Chief Inspector.

Grateful for the thumb jerked towards the back seat, he got in, introducing himself as he did so.

‘I’m Chief Inspector Ingles. What do you make of it lad?’

Ingles had the slow drawl of East Cumbrians who’d grown up in the countryside. While the man may now be more familiar with the golf course than the fells, he still retained the look of a farmer.

‘It’s definitely been done on purpose. The biggest question as far as I’m concerned is who’s supposed to be the target. I’ve spoken with DS Chisholm, and he’s checked out what’s downstream. Thankfully there are no properties within a hundred yards of the river. He’s contacting the farmers below the bridge and advising them to stay away from low lying fields in case the dam breaks.’

Ingles looked at Bhaki with a steady gaze. ‘Well done lad. You’ve covered the main points. I’ll take over the situation here. You crack on with finding the toerag who did it.’

‘Yes sir. Thank you sir.’ Bhaki hesitated for a moment, unsure of just how much to tell the Chief Inspector. ‘I’ve asked DS Chisholm to start looking into any possible targets. If we’re lucky one of them will be able to point us towards the perpetrator.’

‘It’s a good plan, but be wary.’ A crease of authority etched itself onto Ingles’ face. ‘The public can be too quick to point the finger so they can settle their petty scores.’

‘Don’t worry sir. My DI has warned me all about that.’

‘Ah yes. You’re on Harry Evans’s team aren’t you?’ Ingles paused, compassion filling his eyes. ‘How’s he doing?’

‘He’s bearing up sir.’

‘Tell him I sent my best when you see him.’

Sensing he’d been dismissed, Bhaki walked back to his car with his thoughts centred on Harry Evans.

He’d gone round to see him with Lauren Phillips a couple of days ago. Evans had worn a brave face, but there was no disguising the pain he felt. He and Lauren had uttered meaningless platitudes while Evans had tried to be strong. Sensing the effort their presence was costing him, they’d made their excuses at the first opportunity and left him alone with his grief. They knew he appreciated their presence even if he wasn’t yet ready for it.

Returning his mind to the task at hand, Bhaki dug a pair of wellies from the back of his car and set off back to the bridge. He had a theory he wanted to check out and this was the only way to do it. Already soaked to the skin, he reckoned it was better to follow his instinct now, rather than waiting for the rains to stop. If he could confirm his suspicions, he’d be better placed when it came to drawing up a list of suspects.

The ground level was twenty feet above the river bank and the terrain was hard going until Bhaki found a worn path.

As he walked he kept his eyes on the track, making sure he didn’t catch a root or trip over a fallen bough. The last thing he wanted was to fall and roll into the river.

Stopping every fifty yards he surveyed the bank leading down to the river. When his eyes didn’t find what he was looking for he would move on.

Three hundred yards from the road he found what he was seeking. Right along the bank of the river was a row of tree stumps, each one bearing the reddish cream colour of freshly sawn wood.

Looking down to the river he could see no sign of the felled trees. Whoever had cut these trees down had dropped them into the waters below. Examining the ground he found no sign of foot prints or any other clue left by the malicious woodsman.

Counting twenty-three stumps he saw that each was a minimum of two feet in diameter with the largest over four feet wide.

The cuts appeared to be clean and even. To his mind the work of a professional forestry worker or at least someone who knew how to use a chainsaw properly.

*    *    *    *

Bhaki walked into the office and picked up the information Chisholm had printed for him. On the typed sheets was a list of all those who owned property or livestock which may have been caught either by the rising floodwater or were at risk if the dam suffered a sudden breach.

‘Is this all there is, eight possible victims?’

Chisholm’s answer was cut short by Lauren’s flounced entrance.

‘Bloody Chief Super’s just had a right go at me.’ Her face was a mask of indignance as she stomped about the office. ‘Says my heels are too high and that I’d never be able to chase after anyone in them.’

‘He may have a point.’

‘I’ll say the same to you as I said to him.’ Lauren’s eyes burned as she rounded on Bhaki. ‘I’ll race you over a hundred yards for a hundred quid.’

‘In those heels you’d break an ankle after five.’ Bhaki couldn’t resist prodding the wasp’s nest that was Lauren’s commitment to high heels.

‘Anytime, anyplace.’

‘That’s enough.’ Chisholm’s voice may have been raised an octave or two, but an underlying fondness shone through. Being told off by him was like a favourite uncle admonishing a gentle reprimand. ‘Think yourself lucky Amir. Only eight people to investigate. Lauren, you’ve got a suspicious fire at the old bakery to look into. I’d rather you did that than waste your time challenging every male in the building to a race. We all know you can run like the wind, heels or no heels. If you’re not smart enough to realise the Chief Super has a problem with the way you dress, you’re shouldn’t be a detective.’

Bhaki settled himself into his usual chair, thankful for the set of clean dry clothes he kept in his locker for days like this.

Looking at the list of names gave him no inspiration. The DS had run a basic search on each name and none of the eight were in debt, involved in any legal disputes or had the slightest hint of money worries.

Due to the restaurant’s proximity to the bridge, the chef was the most probable target. Looking at the details Chisholm had provided, Bhaki found nothing in his past which would drive someone to such lengths. Besides if the chef was the target, a gallon of petrol and a box of matches would have achieved the same result with a lot less hassle.

One of the farmers listed was reputed to be one of the country’s top breeders of pedigree bulls. He may well have been targeted by a rival but the more he thought about it the less he liked the farmer as the target. While not a country person by any means he couldn’t recall seeing any cows or cattle in the fields for weeks. He guessed they must be kept in barns or sheds during the winter months. If this was true, they wouldn’t be at risk from the floodwaters. Something a rival farmer would know. Again, a gallon of petrol and a box of matches would have garnered the same result.