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Chapter 27: Conjectures Confirmed

Tuesday, Week 2

Inspector Constantin Enescu from the Romanian police arrived at Dorset police headquarters late on Tuesday morning. Sophie was there to meet him, along with Chief Superintendent Neil Dunnett. Matt Silver had collected him from Bristol airport and had brought him up to date on the case. He and Sophie were looking for confirmation that the Romanian end of the operation was either under close observation or had been broken up.

Enescu, a tall, dark-haired man in his early fifties, confirmed that the Bucharest authorities had opted to keep watch. They had infiltrated the suspected gang with an undercover operative, but had made little progress in discovering any more detail about the UK side of the operations. The Romanian gang had lost all contact with their British counterparts. They were now attempting to expand into Denmark, Holland, Belgium and France.

‘We are gaining plenty of information about the methods they use, and we now have the names of most of the girls who’ve recently been taken to these other countries. Once we have all the information we need, we will move in on the gang while the police in the other countries arrest the men holding the young women there.’

‘Does this mean that the gang have more contact with the men holding the women in the rest of Europe?’ asked Sophie. ‘I mean compared to here, where we think they lost contact as soon as the girls were handed over?’

‘Yes, that is so. In the other countries, it is Romanian criminals who have the girls and run them as prostitutes. This means that some of the profits come back to the gang leaders in my country. They have retained control. We think they learned how to do it from observing the gang here in Britain. It was the first.’

‘Do you know when it started?’ asked Silver.

‘More than ten years, we think. We have just interviewed one woman who has found her way back to my country. She managed to escape from the men who were working her in your country. She then made her way to Amsterdam and worked there for herself for many years. Once she had saved enough money she returned to Timisoara to look after her mother who had become ill. But she is not telling us anything helpful yet about the men in Britain. She says that all the police are sexist pigs. There were lots of times when police could have helped or even rescued her but didn’t bother. So she says why should she help us now?’

‘But she might be saving the lives of these latest young women,’ Sophie said.

‘I have said that to her myself. But she is, what you say, hardened? There is no kindness or softness left in her. Her life has been a cruel one, I think, and it has had its effect on her. She wants nothing more to do with any of it.’

‘So there is nothing more you can help us with?’

‘Not yet. We plan to move in on the gang within a month, once we have all the information we need. After that we will let you know anything we find out as we interrogate the men involved. But we cannot arrest them any earlier. It must be done at the same time as the police in the other countries so that no one escapes. But there is one thing. One of the original gang, a man named Barbu, has stayed here in England. He is probably the one in day-to-day contact with the girls.’

‘Do you know anything about him?’

‘She said that he is cruel and enjoys violence. A sadist? Is that the right word?’

Sophie nodded. ‘Yes. That fits with what we know about the gang over here. We suspect that there is at least one Romanian national still with them. Now, how can we help you?’

‘I would like to interview the young woman you have, the one who escaped. Her information will add to what we know about how the gang traps these women, and she can confirm many of the details we are unsure about.’

‘Yes. We expected that you would, so we have brought her along. She is waiting in another office. Your English is very good, Inspector. Have you been to Britain before?’

‘I spent three months here some years ago. I was nominated to take part in a joint programme run by your Home Office and my country’s police department at a time when we were looking to modernise. I had good English before then, which was one of the reasons I was chosen. I was here as an assistant and translator to a
chestor
. That is equivalent to your assistant chief constable, I think.’

‘Are you in charge of the investigation into the gang?’ asked Dunnett.

‘No, sir. A
comisar
is running the investigation because of the links with other countries. But I am involved because of my experience, and because I also speak French as well as English. So I am in charge of the international links with the other police forces.’

‘There is something else, Inspector,’ Sophie added. ‘On Friday night we discovered the bodies of two young women buried on the same farm. They’d both been murdered in the same way, by what seems to be a frenzied knife attack. They’ve been dead for up to two or three years. They haven’t been identified yet, but it’s possible they are Romanian. We’re still waiting for the results of DNA analysis. We’ve asked for ethnic characteristics to be included in the check to give us a better idea of their backgrounds. One of us will contact you immediately if we find them to be Romanian. It would speed things up if you already had details of any missing women from the same area as the ones we are currently looking for.’

Enescu nodded.

Sophie sat in on the interview with Nadia. She had told the young woman that she need not answer anything that was too upsetting. But the Romanian officer was professional and very gentle. He translated both his questions and Nadia’s responses into English for Sophie’s benefit. Enescu made detailed notes of all Nadia’s answers. He took time to crosscheck with a document he had brought with him. Clearly he had prepared most of his questions well in advance, or had them prepared for him. Sophie was impressed with his professionalism.

When he’d finished, Sophie asked him to keep her updated on the investigation in Romania, particularly following the planned actions in France and Holland. She bade him goodbye, and took Nadia back to her mother in the safe house. They would be back out on the streets of Weymouth that coming night.

* * *

Sophie returned to the incident room in Swanage where Barry Marsh was talking to Jimmy Melsom about the boat.

‘Who’s watching it now?’ she asked.

‘A DC from Poole,’ Melsom replied. I’ll take over again late afternoon if you want me to, but I’m not sure it will be very productive, ma’am. I found something odd when I went back first thing this morning.’

‘Explain, please, Jimmy.’

‘I know you told me to watch it only until about one last night, and it was perishing cold, so I was glad to come away. But I was a bit unhappy about leaving it completely unwatched, so I left a couple of small oil spills on the gangplank, and a few small smears on the grab handles to the cabin. I did it earlier in the evening, when there were other people about. And someone had been on the boat after I left last night. There’s a footprint on the gangplank, and smears on the door handle.’

‘Fingerprints?’ she asked.

‘No. Whoever it was had gloves on. The thing is, ma’am, just before I came away I did hear a vehicle approaching, but it didn’t come into the car park. I checked carefully as I left, and there was no vehicle there that wasn’t there earlier when I arrived. It must have parked somewhere else. I must have missed him by a matter of minutes. I could kick myself.’

‘I feel like kicking myself every single day, Jimmy. Don’t worry.’ Sophie was looking through a sheaf of papers in her in-tray, marked “Urgent and Confidential”.

‘Nothing else had changed, you say? I wonder what he was doing.’

‘If he went inside, maybe he was removing anything incriminating,’ Marsh suggested. ‘Now we know that there’s been some activity, why don’t we just break into the boat and search it? My guess is that they’ve been and gone. We could have a video surveillance system set up to pick up anyone who does visit, though I don’t think it’s likely. That gives us the option of using Jimmy with us in Weymouth tonight.’

Sophie seemed to have stopped listening. Finally she lifted her eyes from the papers. For the first time in this investigation they looked cold and calculating.

‘Sounds good to me. Can you arrange it, Jimmy? Barry and I have some DNA profiling to discuss.’

Holding the papers, she walked with Marsh through to her office and closed the door behind them.

‘The body we found buried at that depot looks to be that of Andy Thompson. He was on the fringes of a gang operating out of the West Midlands twenty years ago.’

‘Who did the profile match with?’ Marsh asked.

‘His half-brother, Billy.’

Marsh looked troubled. ‘Isn’t he the one in hospital? The one whose gang killed your father?’

‘Yes. Which is why I’m telling you, and only you. I don’t want this spread around, Barry. I don’t want people whispering about me, or my father. We’ve got to keep our eye on the ball here.’

‘But, ma’am, couldn’t some kind of conflict arise because of this?’

‘No. There will be no conflict.’

‘What about the gun?’

‘The gun is still under analysis. It’s been buried there as long as the body. We’ll probably never know whether it was the one that shot Thompson, because he was killed by a bullet in the head that went in and came out.’

Marsh looked at her. ‘You know that’s not what I meant, Sophie.’

‘There will be no conflict.’

She turned and walked out. It was only as she walked down the corridor, her hands shaking and the nausea rising in her throat, that she realised that for the first time, Marsh had called her Sophie. And she knew why. He was wondering if the buried gun was the one that had killed her father. She knew it was. It was confirmed by the emailed forensic report in her hand.

* * *

Melsom and Marsh, with a small forensic squad, broke into the boat that afternoon. It was immediately apparent why the vessel had been visited the previous night. There was a strong smell of bleach in the cabin and the small bridge. The surfaces had all been wiped clean.

‘Don’t worry,’ one of the forensic team said. ‘We’ll find something, somewhere. From what you’ve said, it will have been a quick wipe down and they’ll have overlooked something.’

The documents cupboard had been left hanging open, emptied of its contents.

‘I think we’ll get it towed somewhere secure once you’ve finished your first check,’ Marsh said. ‘Then you can really get to work on it.’

* * *

That night in Weymouth was as unproductive, and as uncomfortable, as the previous one. A biting wind blew in from the north-west, carrying occasional flurries of sleet. The few people out on the streets hurried from pub to car or taxi as fast as they could, hunched into their coats with their collars drawn up. Nadia and Pillay made two rapid circuits but met no one. No girls were out on the streets on such a vicious night. They finished the evening by making a quick visit to the two late-night clubs that were still open, looking to see if any of the girls were inside, but they were both empty.

Shit, thought Sophie as they drove away. This is all falling apart.

Chapter 28: Not for the Faint Hearted

Wednesday

The doorbell rang just before eight. Jennie was sipping a mug of tea and listening to the weather forecast on the radio. She walked to the door, looked through the small spyhole, then opened it.

‘Good morning,’ Sophie said, trying to sound brighter than she felt. ‘Sorry to call so early, but I wanted to be sure of catching you in.’

‘Tea or coffee?’ asked Jennie, as she ushered the detective into her large, airy kitchen.

Sophie could hear from the weather forecast that the current cold snap was coming to an end. Temperatures would climb during the day as a bank of milder air moved in from the south-west. Thank God, she thought. Yet another visit to Weymouth was planned for tonight, and she really didn’t know how her body could stand a repeat of the previous two nights’ freezing temperatures. She was worn out, and knew it.

‘Coffee, please. Milk and one sugar would be great.’

The two women took their drinks through to the lounge and sat in soft chairs in front of a low coffee table. Sophie leaned back and shut her eyes for a moment. She’d never felt so exhausted in her life. She had been physically tired before, but now she felt as if her mind was under assault. The past few weeks had been a time of complete mental and emotional mayhem. And the only people who knew about it were this young woman sitting opposite her, smoothing her ponytail, and an old man dying of cancer in Birmingham. Sophie took a sip of coffee and began to feel a little better. Jennie watched her expectantly.

‘I have the DNA results and they confirm what you suspected. They all match with yours. Under more normal circumstances, I’d be offering you my congratulations, but . . ? How do you feel? You must have very mixed emotions about all this.’

‘Yes. My mind’s a bit of a blur. I don’t know what to think, coming from such a stable background into all this. What are the details?’

‘The official check shows that the person we found buried outside the warehouse in Poole was closely related to Billy Thompson, confirming our belief that he was Andy Thompson. I then asked the analysts to compare each of the results with your profile, and they both showed up positive. You have a close link with Billy, strongly supporting his claim that he is your uncle, and you have an even closer link with the body we found, consistent with him being your father.’ A tear ran down Jennie’s cheek. ‘I’m sorry, Jennie. I said that in such a cold, unemotional way because I really didn’t know what it would all mean to you.’

She went across to Jennie’s chair and put her arms around her.

‘There’s something else. I’ve managed to trace a member of the Stockwell family in Birmingham, and she has agreed to give a DNA sample. She would be your aunt if that part of Blossom’s story is true.’

‘Oh, God. I can’t take it all in. I just don’t know how to thank you, and this last bit is so unexpected. How have you found the time with all the other things you’re doing?’

‘It wasn’t that difficult. I think I told you I worked in the West Midlands for many years. I phoned up an ex-colleague and put her onto it, and she rang me back late yesterday with the news. By the way, the coroner has signed off your father’s body because of the detailed post-mortem results, so you can go ahead and make funeral arrangements. As far as we can tell, the DNA match means that you are the next of kin. There are no other close, known family members other than Billy.’ Sophie glanced at her watch and took another mouthful of coffee. ‘This is lovely. The stuff they supply us with at police stations is so awful.’

She looked around her at the artwork hanging on the walls.

‘They’re all quite edgy, aren’t they? The prints, I mean. My husband would say they are pushing the boundaries. Particularly that one.’ She indicated a print of a woman clad completely in tight, shiny, black clothes and wearing high-heeled boots.

‘It’s part of a set. The others are not for the faint hearted. Would you like to see them? They’re hanging in my bedroom.’

They walked through to the bedroom, mugs in hand. Sophie stopped and gaped.

‘When Blossom saw them he said they removed any doubt in his mind that I was my mother’s daughter. Apparently she was a bit ahead of her time and had similar “interests,” if that’s the right word to use.’

* * *

Sophie had just arrived at Swanage police station when her mobile phone rang. It was an unknown caller.

‘Hello?’

‘Ma’am? It’s DC Spence from Gloucester. I have some great news for you.’

‘Go ahead,’ she replied. ‘I need cheering up.’

‘We’ve found another witness to your father’s murder. We’ve been trying to trace the other gang members, and one’s turned up. He not only remembers what happened, but he’s actively helping us. And he’s said that he’ll testify in court if we ever trace the killer.’

‘How reliable a witness will he be?’

‘Good. Apparently he’s been a reformed character for many years. He goes around youth groups, giving talks on avoiding crime and staying out of prison.’

Sophie leant against the corridor wall. She shut her eyes and breathed deeply. At last the universe was beginning to right itself, tilting back in her direction.

‘Ma’am? Are you still there?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, barely audible. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. You can’t imagine what this means to me.’

She remained leaning against the wall for some time. Then she slipped the phone back into her bag, stood upright, straightened her clothes and continued to walk towards the incident room. She didn’t notice Barry Marsh standing behind her. He followed her into the room.

‘Morning, ma’am,’ he said.

She looked up. ‘Hi, Barry. The forecast says that the weather is going to get milder, thank God. So maybe we’ll make better headway tonight.’

Jack Holly came in. He was the uniformed officer who had made the first visit to Brookway Farm.

‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but I may have a name for the gap-toothed man I saw at the farm last week. I couldn’t find him in any photofits but I’ve been asking around and I finally got a response yesterday evening. An old buddy of mine who lives in Poole says that it sounds like someone called Smiffy. They had him on their radar a long time ago when he was on the fringes of a gang of hoods. He hasn’t been in any trouble for years now.’

‘That ties in,’ Marsh said. ‘The members of this gang seem to be experts at keeping their names out of the spotlight. Even Frimwell’s record is from years ago.’

‘It reminds me of the Thompson gang in Birmingham,’ mused Sophie. ‘It was always a nightmare trying to pin anything on them. They were so clever at covering their tracks.’

She was about to say more, but thought better of it. This gang had probably copied their methods, which supported the idea of a link. And that link was probably their boss, Charlie Duff. She couldn’t even begin to find a way of talking about him. Not yet, anyway. What was he really like? She thought back to her brief encounter with him through the gap in the hedge at Frimwell’s bungalow. Cold, narrow, watchful eyes and slightly curled lips. The erect way he held himself. But that was only the exterior. What was going on in that twisted mind? And what was he thinking now? She chose to keep silent. At some time she would have to come clean on the link to her father’s murder, but she wasn’t ready for it yet. Her thoughts were still too confused.

She looked up. Marsh was watching her.

‘Thanks for that, Jack. Every small piece of the jigsaw helps us to visualise the complete picture. If anything else crops up, let one of us know right away.’ As soon as Holly left the office, she turned to her sergeant.

‘You’re watching me.’

‘Are you surprised, ma’am? I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself for days now. I saw you just now, leaning against the wall out in the corridor. You looked as though you were about to faint.’

‘If you must know, Barry, it was good news. The Gloucester crew have found a witness to my father’s murder, despite the huge time gap.’

‘I’m glad. But there’s something else, isn’t there? Something you’re not telling us.’

‘That’s just your over-vivid imagination, Barry. My advice is to stick to the facts, and stay with the evidence.’

‘Ma’am, you can trust me.’

For a moment, a crack appeared in her carefully maintained veneer.

‘Do you think I would tell you when I haven’t even told my husband?’ she snapped. ‘No one knows what this case means to me. Not one fucking person in this whole wide, sorry world. Slimy, disgusting worms wriggling in a cesspit. That’s all it is when it comes down to it. Just get on with your job, Barry, and then maybe we’ll get to the end of it.’

She stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Marsh gaping. He stood there for a few minutes and then made his way out of the station. He phoned Matt Silver from his mobile.

* * *

When they met again in the afternoon, Sophie was back to her normal, composed self. Progress was reviewed, plans were made, orders were given.

She and Pillay made arrangements for a third night visit to Weymouth, and possible changes to the route the young women would follow. Jimmy Melsom was given the task of contacting letting agencies in the Weymouth area, looking for farmhouse lets in remote locations, although Sophie wasn’t hopeful. The gang’s previous bookings had been so complex that it had taken Marsh days to untangle them. He said so now.

‘You’re right, Barry. But the last couple of moves have been rushed, so this latest one might have been unplanned. It’s worth a try.’

‘Of course.’

The meeting drew to a close and the others left. She glanced up and saw him watching her.

‘Sorry for the outburst, Barry. You didn’t deserve it.’

‘I do care what happens to you, ma’am.’

‘I know. And I appreciate it, really.’