“Have you got any news? Come in. Come in.”
Souter slipped inside and she closed the door behind him.
Dressed only in a man’s shirt, she padded back to her bed, jumped in and pulled the covers up.
He averted his gaze. Stripped of the heavy make up of the previous day, she looked much younger and more vulnerable.
He took in the room. Two single beds were side by side next to the window. A bare 40 watt bulb in the ceiling provided a gloomy atmosphere. The curtains were closed, held together in the middle by a couple of safety pins. On the opposite side was a kitchen area with a sink and a small cooker. A few dishes were left out but he was pleasantly surprised how tidy it all seemed. Apart, that is, from the discarded items of clothing on the floor.
“I don’t normally do this,” she said, seriously.
“Do what?”
“Have strange men in the room.” Her face broke into a broad grin.
Souter smiled. “I don’t make a habit of it either.”
“Going into girl’s bedrooms?”
He looked at Sammy as if peering over a pair of reading glasses. “Have you eaten?”
“I’m okay.”
“Come on, you need to have some breakfast, even though it’s afternoon.”
“Oh, all right, do us a coffee then. There’s a jar in the left hand cupboard. It’ll have to be black. The milk ran out last night.”
Souter filled the kettle and found the jar. “There’s a couple of slices of bread here. Fancy some toast?”
Sammy pulled the bedclothes over her head in exasperation. “Okay, if it’ll shut you up.”
Souter switched on the grill, set the bread on the grill pan and slid it underneath.
“So come on,” she said, sitting back up in bed, “what about Maria?”
“There’s nothing on Maria yet.” The kettle boiled and he poured water into the mugs. “I’ve asked around about any other missing girls like you said but again, nothing.”
”So what’s the point of coming round here if you’ve got nothing to tell me? Unless, of course …” She fluttered her eyelashes.
“Behave! The fact is, if I’m going to help you, I need your help.”
“How?”
“Well the girls are hardly likely to talk to me in an open and frank manner, are they? Apart from police, journalists are not the most popular. And I think the answer has to lie with them.”
Sammy grew serious. “I’m really worried now.”
Souter pulled out the grill pan and turned the bread over. “I know you are.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“First off, I need to speak to Tracey.”
“Might not be that easy.”
“Why?”
“I don’t exactly know where she lives for a start. For another, she works a number of patches.”
“We’ve got to try.” He held up a white paper bag. “Sugar?“
“Two.”
“Don’t suppose you’ve any butter?”
“Spreadable, in the fridge.”
He buttered the two slices of toast, put them on a plate and handed it to her, along with her coffee. He sat on the empty bed, declining Sammy’s invitation to sit on her’s.
“Now get that down you and we’ll get off and see if you can find her.”
“Ooh, right away, Mr Souter, sir,” she mocked.
“You can knock the ‘Mr Souter’ bit on the head. Call me Bob. Everybody else does.”
She chuckled. “Okay, Bob. Tell me about yourself.”
“Not a lot to tell, really.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Not until you eat that.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, “but I want to know why you sometimes sound a bit Scottish.”
“You detect that?”
“I’m quite good with accents.”
“Well, I was born in Scotland,” he began. “Lived there until I was six before I came down to Doncaster with my family. And I’ve just spent nearly four years in Glasgow before I joined the Post in January. So I suppose now and then I slip into the accent.”
Sammy laughed. “I was right, then.”
“Very good. Anyway, enough of me; what about you and Maria?”
She started on her second slice of toast and slurped her coffee. “We met in St. Benedict’s children’s home in Otley. Maria’s from Manchester. Her mum died when she was ten and her dad began drinking not long after. She was thirteen when she arrived.”
“What about you, though?”
“Never knew my dad. He pissed off before I was born. Mum did her best but she couldn’t really cope.” Sammy stared off into the middle distance. “Succession of blokes. All bastards, except one. Frank. I liked Frank. He was good to me.” She smiled and looked across at Souter. Her expression hardened. “Not like the last shit, Roger. Roger by name and Roger by nature. Started getting into my bed when mum worked a shift in the pub. Bastard.” Tears began to form and she struggled to keep control. “Fucking dirty bastard.”
“Sammy, don’t. It’s too painful for you. I don’t want to know. You don’t have to tell me.”
Through tears, she said, “But I do. You have to understand. I’m not a bad person just because I do what I have to do.”
Souter got up and sat on the end of her bed. “Look, I said when we met yesterday, I’m not judging you. It doesn’t matter what you do, you’re a young woman, first and foremost.”
“I know,” she sobbed. “That’s why I came to see you. I felt I could trust you.”
“And I’ll help you if I possibly can. Now,” he said rising to his feet, “Get yourself dressed and meet me over the road. I’m in a red Escort.”
Souter and Sammy’s luck changed at the third venue they tried in locating Tracey. The quiet road flanked by abandoned industrial units awaiting redevelopment provided a perfect stage for the performers. There were about six girls parading the two hundred yards of pavement, eyeing up any passing vehicles.
“That looks like her up there, on the other side,” Sammy said.
Before they could reach her a black BMW with heavily tinted windows coming in the opposite direction pulled up alongside the girl. As Souter passed by, he could feel the vibration of the bass line coming from the BMW’s stereo.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
“That’s Winston’s car.”
“Her pimp?”
Sammy nodded. “Better than some.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
Souter reversed the car into an entrance, ready to head back down the street. “You know what I’m asking.”
Sammy turned her head away. “I have a friend.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Tracey lean in through the BMW’s passenger window. She wore knee length black boots, a denim skirt that only just covered the essentials and a low cut blue top. As she tried to move away and straighten up, an arm shot out, grabbed her and pulled her back. Souter tensed.
“Relax,” Sammy said. “He’s probably telling her she needs to do more business.”
A minute later, the BMW drove away from the kerb. But only for fifty yards or so to stop next to a tall dark-haired girl.
Souter pulled back out into the road but not before having to give way to a grey Volkswagen Golf driven by a middle-aged man on his own. It drew alongside Tracey. Souter pulled up behind and Sammy shouted from the window. Tracey was startled. The Golf driver, nervous to begin with, shot off.
“Tracey, we need to talk,” Sammy said.
The girl strutted up to the car. “Fucking hell, Sam, you’ve just lost me a punter. Winston’ll be well pissed off.”
“Get in will you and stop moaning. My friend here will compensate you.”
“Here, you’re not in for a threesome are you?”
“Piss off! Just get in.”
Tracey opened the door and got into the back seat behind Sammy. “Just fucking drive, will you,” she said. “I’ll show you where to go.”
Five minutes later, they were parked at the rear of an old warehouse building. The detritus on the ground evidence that this was a regular venue.
“This is Bob,” Sammy said. “A friend of mine. He’s helping me find Maria.”
“She still not showed up yet?”
“No.”
Souter turned round. “Can you tell me the last time you saw her?”
Tracey shifted in her seat, revealing more than he wanted to see. She blew a bubble of gum and let it crack as she considered her answer. “Sunday. About a quarter to eleven. You’d gone off with that Jerry bloke,” she said to Sammy. “Some tosser in a white van pulled up and she got in.”
“Did she get straight in or did they talk first? I mean did you get the impression she knew him from a previous occasion?”
“Don’t know. I think there was the usual ‘want business?’ and then she got in.”
“Do you remember what kind of van?”
“I dunno, just a white van.”
“Big, small, medium?”
“Smallish, like an Escort van.”
“And was there anything unusual about it? Any name on the side, different coloured doors, that sort of thing?”
She thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think there was any name. But the passenger door was a bit rusty along the bottom.”
“That’s good, Tracey. It’s something, at least.”
“What about my money?”
Souter looked at Sammy.
“She’s losing business, Bob.”
“How much?”
“Fifty,” Tracey said.
“Piss off,” Sammy responded, “Give her twenty for a blow job.”
Souter moved his lips to say something but never quite managed it.
“But my memory might not be what it should,” Tracey said.
Souter brought out his wallet and retrieved some notes. “Here. Here’s thirty. Now what can you tell me about the man?”
She snatched the money and it disappeared into her small handbag in a flash.
“Only got a quick look.” She blew another bubble. This time it cracked back and stuck to her lips. “Fuck.” She pulled bits off and put them back into her mouth. “He was quite young, maybe in his twenties with a shaved head. That’s all I noticed. It was dark.”
“You don’t think you’ve seen him before?”
“Don’t think so.”
Souter turned to Sammy, checking there was nothing else she wanted to ask, then back once more to Tracey. “Have you any idea what might have happened to Maria?”
“No idea. Maybe she went down to London. Christ, I don’t know. She was your mate, Sam.”
“One last thing,” he said, “Have you heard of any other girls going missing?”
“Girls get in and out of this game all the time.”
“I’d heard there had been a couple go missing in the last few weeks,” Sammy joined in.
“Not heard nothing like that.”
Souter started the engine. “Thanks for your time.”
They drove back and dropped Tracey off where they had picked her up. There was no sign of the BMW or the tall dark haired girl.
“You take care,” he said as she got out.
“Whatever.”
Souter felt an air of depression as he drove back to Sammy’s place. Her road seemed more run down than he’d noticed earlier. Several young mothers were pushing children in scruffy pushchairs, some dragging a reluctant toddler along as well, and all with a mobile phone clamped to their ear.
Sammy made him pull over about a hundred yards from her building.
“I’ll walk from here,” she said.
“Is my presence a problem for you?”
She paused with her hand on the door handle. “It’s just better for me. Thanks for coming round. I’m not sure we’re any further forward. Tracey wasn’t much help, was she?”
“At least it confirmed what she’d told you earlier – and we now know the white van we’re looking for has a rusty passenger door.”
“Needle in a haystack, though.”
Sammy got out and Souter watched her walk down the road. After a few minutes, she passed two hoodies. One turned to look at her then said something to his mate. They both laughed and Souter tensed once more.
He put the car in gear and slowly set off, passing Sammy about twenty yards from her flat. With a quick glance towards her, he accelerated down the street. The uneasy feeling of hostile eyes on him made him shudder.
12
Four o’clock and Strong was back out at Meadow Woods Farm. The place was buzzing with Scenes of Crime officers in white suits. Stainmore and Ormerod met him in the yard.
“We got the keys from the agents and had a quick look round,” Stainmore told him.
“And?”
“A variety of tools, welding equipment and car paints,” Ormerod said.
“So, a little car repair business?”
“Maybe, but there’s all the materials necessary for producing number plates including a selection of numbers and letters as well.”
“Hardly grounds for all this activity.”
“It’s more what isn’t here that struck me.”
“And then, of course, there was this,” Stainmore said, before Ormerod could add any more. She held up a plastic evidence bag. “In a rubbish bin, discarded items we think came from the Subaru Sports that was nicked from an address in Wooley just over two weeks ago.”
“How have you tied that in?”
“When the owner reported the theft, he gave us some fairly detailed information about what was in the vehicle. For instance, he told me that he was virtually addicted to Werther’s Originals. Voila, dozens of Werther’s sweet wrappers.”
“Hardly conclusive. The guys who work here might be big fans.”
“He also said there would be three car parking receipts from the multi-storey in town, including the dates and rough times.”
“Getting better,” Strong said.
“Then the clincher, a parking fine made out in the vehicle’s registration number, which he said he’d collected the day before it was nicked, and would be in the glove box.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Strong had a satisfied grin on his face. “At the very least, it looks like the car was cleaned internally here.”
“I assume we pull in Chris Baker, guv?” Ormerod asked.
“Oh, yes. But let’s have his brother and Chapman in as well. And keep them separate, don’t let them see one another. BT confirmed a call from Susan’s land line to Chapman on Saturday afternoon. So, for me, that confirms she heard that message and somehow worked out who had left it.”
As Stainmore made a call, Strong strolled over to the farm house. He turned at the front door and studied the layout of the yard.
Ormerod joined him. “You think Susan Brown and this little operation might be connected?”