Bitter Sweet (9 page)

That single eye contact said it all. We both knew, instantly, that there was no turning back. We had to help the girl, cost us what it may.

We got the girl, who was now babbling incoherently in her mother tongue, into my apartment and sat her down on the sofa.

‘Make her a tea,’ I said to Ivonne.

I hurried around the apartment, drawing all the blinds, double checked that the door was locked and that no lights were burning.

In the sitting room, the girl had her arms wrapped around her chest, the odd shiver still coursing through her body.

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘Take it easy.’

Everything was far from being okay. We were trapped in the b
uilding with no obvious way out and with no obvious recourse to help.

If the girl had just run out of
the building she might have had a chance on her own. Had we fled with her, what then? We’d all be on the run. And as before, the police were not an option, not with Detective Sergeant Driscoll in Erjon’s pocket. Community care programs, or women’s’ support groups; I didn’t know of any, and would they help at this time of the day?

I glanced at the laptop, knowing that it was now essential to find out if the CCTV on this floor was operating or, God forbid
, that it had been hijacked by Erjon: then we would really be sitting in the shit. A real farce; a tart with a heart, doing the good deed, only to be ensnared within minutes.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

‘Maria.’

‘Can you speak English?’

She nodded her head. ‘Yes . . .’ Tears sprang from her eyes.

Oh God! I fought back my own tears. What had she been through? What suffering? Jeez, it didn’t bear thinking of. Her voice had a south-eastern European cadence. It was a dead certainty she’d been
coerced or trafficked.

Ivonne came over and held out a mug of tea. Maria took the mug, cupping it in both hands.

‘Ivonne,’ I said. ‘Sit with her, get her settled and try and find out what she was babbling about earlier.  I
must
check the CCTV system.’

I
leaned over and whispered into Ivonne’s ear; ‘It probably won’t be long before she’s missed, try and find out how she escaped. That way we’ll have an idea as to how soon they’re going to be after her.’

I booted up the laptop and immediately accessed my AOL account. There it was, good. I started the download process, and whilst waiting I brought up the feed from the mini CCTV system Mike and I had installed; nothing happening.

Next, I checked the mobile tracking device to see if I could locate Erjon – he was in Bedford Street, well away. There were some texts and calls on his phone. The computer pinged; the download had completed. I put the tracking phone aside; the calls would have to wait. Maybe I could try using Google translator to find out what Erjon had been talking about. Somehow, I knew we’d need every edge.

Jeez, t
here were so many folders. Where to start? I ordered the folders by date created, and decided to work my way backwards.

Each folder was for one specific camera: twelve floors, twelve cameras, minimum. And all the floors looked the same.

Ivonne came over, distracting me from my frantic attempt to find the fourth floor.

‘
She’s been trafficked. Looks like she wacked the minder on the head,’ Ivonne said, ‘and with the lid of the toilet cistern.’

‘That should keep him down for a while.’

‘You bet. Just deserts,’ Ivonne said. ‘I hope she didn’t split his skull. That would be a real travesty.’

‘Yeah, not only would Erjon be after her, but the police as well for manslaughter.’

I turned back to the laptop, redoubling my efforts to find the folder for the fourth floor, spurred on by the thought of Erjon and the police, chasing not just Maria, but us as well.

Bingo. I found it and clicked play. Damn it, this would take forever. Use your brains, I chided myself. I sat back and took a deep breath. Inspiration struck: the camera must have caught the two goon
s at the lift at approximately 3.45pm.

I clicked on rewind and sped the thing up to factor sixteen, as fast as the program would go.

With the time showing 3.45pm on the top right hand corner of the screen, I let the program play at normal speed. And . . . nothing!

Hey what? Even if Erjon had hijacked the camera, it must show the same event. Puzzled, I leaned back. I couldn’t make sense of it. What was the point of fiddling with the camera? What did Erjon gain?

Obviously the camera was functioning; otherwise there’d be a fuzzy, black and white blizzard, but there wasn’t. Devious.

I knew that the cleaning crew went along the passageway at around ten every morning. I spooled back. There they were, but the time showing was ten thirty. Okay, they start on the ground floor and work up. I found the folder for the fifth floor and spooled back to ten thirty: the cleaning crew. I double checked the times and the dates on floors four and five: identical.

Okay, it looked like the data from the camera on five was being fed into the feed from the fourth, my floor. I went back a couple of days, after all it was my ass on the line, and checked again; same thing.

But, did that prove that the camera on four was not recording? No, it didn’t.
It was possible the data from camera five was being duplicated and appeared as the feed from camera four and, that way, no one would be any the wiser.

And I was none the wiser as to whether Maria’s dash into my arms had been recorded and observed. Shit, if we stayed in here we’d be caught. If we made a bolt for it, someone, Erjon, would know Maria had been in my apartment, and they’d see us making a break for it.

Shit, what if someone had been monitoring camera four since it had been tweaked? That would mean they knew we had our own mini system.

Calm down, my mind was racing away, covering all the angles and getting terribly het up in t
he process. One thing at a time and no jumping to conclusions.

‘T
ina?’ Ivonne said, startling me. ‘We’ve got a problem.’

‘So have I. And it’s how to get out of here, unseen.’

I turned to look at Ivonne. Maria was staring at me, her eyes alive with hope.

‘Maria says her cousin and her friend Yana are in Martha’s apartment.’

I sat very still, trying not to allow this disastrous piece of news to unnerve me completely.

‘And?’ I said.

Ivonne’s face resembled a sad-faced smiley. I stared into her eyes, waiting for her, someone, anyone to articulate the suggestion.

No one did and no one moved.

‘You can’t be serious?’ I said.

I stood up, my mind whizzing with thoughts; all centred around danger. We had to get Maria out of here and PDQ. That was dangerous enough. I shook my head. No, this can’t be. No, we can’t . . .

Catch a grip. If some had been watching, then the door to my apartment would have long since landed with a crash on the floor.

‘Ivonne come with me.’

I closed the door to the spare bedroom behind us. ‘Are we going to go in there and get the two girls?’

‘It’s either that,’ Ivonne said, ‘or we tell Maria some story and get her out of here.’

‘Getting out might be the hard part.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because I don’t know if the camera on four is working. It’s showing what’s happening on the floor above us.’

‘Disconnected?’ Ivonne asked.

‘Don’t know.’ I shrugged. ‘It might have been rerouted.’

‘Oh,’ Ivonne said, and closed her eyes.

‘Yeah, exactly. Maria’s flight into this apartment might be on tape, somewhere.’

‘Somewhere?’

‘Anywhere,’ I exhaled. ‘Worst case; Erjon can see it, live.’

‘Then we’re sitting ducks.’

‘Not quite. Just a moment, I’ll be right back.’ I sped into the sitting room, smiled at Maria and grabbed the tracking device for Erjon’s phone.

Back in the bedroom, I showed it with some relief to Ivonne. ‘Erjon is still in Bedford Street.’

‘What if we zip in quickly, grab the girls, get them in here and then create a diversion?’

‘What are you thinking of?’

‘We call the police and the ambulance. Make it look as if the girls have escaped, and whilst the police and the medics are milling about we slide out with the girls.’

‘Someone,’ I said, ‘is going to have to watch the lifts, whilst someone else fetches the girls.’

Ivonne nodded.

I dropped on to the bed. We stared at each other.

Ivonne spoke first; ‘any which way, we have to know the score with the camera on our floor.’

‘Yes,’ I said glumly.

‘We could smash it, disconnect it. Then get the girls.’

I shook my head. ‘It might be too late for that.’

‘Erjon is going to suspect us anyway.’

‘If, he doesn’t already know.’

‘I’ll move to a new apartment.’

‘Do you think that will stop him,’ I said. ‘He won’t leave you alone. He’ll want revenge.’

Ivonne swore. ‘Different town?’

‘If we’re going to do it, we’ll have to do it now.’

Ivonne stood; her lower lip trapped between her teeth. Abruptly, she put her hands on her hips, and grinned at me. ‘A couple of do-gooder prossies?’

‘That’s us, although it might put us out of business.’ I smiled. ‘Good idea, I’ve exams coming up.’

‘But the money,’ Ivonne said, looking wistful.

‘Come on,’ I said, getting up from the bed, ‘let’s do it.’

‘I just hope that minder is still out for the count,’ I said, opening the door of my apartment.

I stuck my head out and looked up and down the passageway; all clear.

‘Just a mo,’ I said, and ducked back in. ‘I’ve just had a thought. Ivonne have you got any uniforms in your place?’

‘Uniforms?’

‘Yeah, you know; role play, dressing up that kind of thing.’

Ivonne’s eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘I’ve got a penguin outfit. This one guy really gets his rocks off fucking me dressed up as a nun.’

‘Go get it.’

Within minutes Ivonne was back wearing the habit. She looked remarkably different with the veil and the coif covering her hair and it gave her face a stern appearance. Not only that, but at almost six feet she made an imposing and formidable looking nun.

‘Wow,’ she sai
d, looking at me. ‘A real sassy-looking cop.’

The only problem with my police uniform was the trousers; normally I wore the uniform with an ultra-short mini skirt, stockings, suspenders and high heels – a real drop dead combination. The trousers I had on weren
’t the same blue as the uniform and they had a skinny- jeans cut, but they’d have to do. It would soon be evening time and in the failing light, I hoped no one would notice.

‘The uniforms,’ I said, tipping the peak of the hat further down over my forehead, ‘might throw any observer off. We’ll need every edge we can get.

‘Oh another thing; latex gloves. I don’t want my fingerprints all over Martha’s apartment.’ I hurried into the bedroom and grabbed a pair of disposable latex gloves – kept on the top shelf of the wardrobe – and snapped them on.

I rapidly checked the mini CCTV system and the tracking phone; nothing happening. I raced bac
k to the door, the police baton bobbing on my hip. I strode confidently out of the apartment and turned left. The camera on fourth floor was there to primarily monitor people entering and leaving the corridor; it didn’t cover my door, or Ivonne’s, and Martha’s apartment was on the extreme limits of its range.

Ivonne followed me out, but turned right towards the lifts. Her job was to keep, if possible, one of the lifts out of action by holding it on the fourth floor. The second lift, again if possible, would be sent on a voyage to all twelve floors of the building. As a consequence anyone wishing to ascend would be severely hindered.  And she was to sound the alarm should any of Erjon’s thugs appear.

I reached the door to Martha’s apartment and stopped, reviewing the situation. From what Ivonne had been able to discern from Maria, she had really clobbered the minder with the cistern’s lid – manslaughter remained a distinct possibility. There might be a dead body in there.

The other problem was that the two girls were locked in one of the bedrooms. Maria had been too panicked by what she had done, and had fled. So, I would have to find the key.

I put my ear to the door and listened; nothing. I hefted the baton, pressed slowly down on the handle and eased the door open. My eyes tracked straight to the minder who lay sprawled on the floor, but as I stepped over the threshold his head twitched. An unconscious spasm or was he coming around?

I gripped the baton firmly, went up on the balls of my feet and tiptoed along the corridor. The minder twitched ag
ain. As I got closer I saw copious amounts of blood on the floor, bordered by bits of the broken cistern lid. I edged nearer; the blow had impacted near the top of the man’s head, which lay in a pool of dark-red blood. Poised and well balanced to place a kick, if need be, I nudged his arm with the baton: no response. I leaned in; the blood around the wound had already coagulated.