Hit and Run (17 page)

Marta stared at the wall, painted speckled blue and grey, graffiti gouged out of it. Danny 4eva, Stan 03/03/03. Someone had drawn a heart in blood; it looked like blood, reddish-brown and smeary.

*****

Harper was subdued when they resumed the interview. His ashen complexion and continued breathlessness indicated he was still badly shaken. Janine wanted to get as much from him as she could before his solicitor called a halt. ‘How did Konrad Sulikov find out that Rosa was running away?’

Harper shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

Janine stared at him until he became defensive. ‘I didn’t tell him,’ he protested. She wasn’t sure whether she believed him. ‘Who else then? He must have found out somehow.’

‘I don’t know,’ he insisted.

‘Could it have been Lee Stone?’

‘Possibly,’ he said slowly. He thought for a moment. He appeared confused. He pinched at the bony bridge on his nose, screwed his eyes shut in concentration. ‘When Rosa and I were arguing on Sunday he was waiting to lock up. He might have heard us.’ He didn’t sound very certain.

‘Would he have been able to work out what the argument was about?’

‘Erm, maybe. She was yelling at me, I’m going back, with or without your help, that sort of thing. He could have passed it on.’

‘When did you last see Stone?’

‘Sunday night.’

‘Has he contacted you since?’

‘No.’

‘What is Stone’s relationship to Sulikov?’ Richard asked him.

‘Sulikov was grooming him for the big time.’

‘The big time?’

‘Sulikov started out with a two-up two-down brothel in Leeds. He’s got a bloody empire now: places in Liverpool, Birmingham, London, clubs, escort agencies. He’s bringing in girls every month. Some of them working, some of them paying more so they can disappear. He needs people like Stone.’

‘Muscle?’

‘No limits,’ the tic jumped again.

‘Could Stone have killed Rosa for Sulikov?’

Harper shook his head, looking lost. He seemed reluctant to accuse the bouncer. Janine was intrigued. She’d have expected Harper to go the whole hog, incriminating others to prove his own innocence but perhaps he wasn’t sure and had some shred of integrity left.

‘My client can’t comment.’ The solicitor at least didn’t want any idle speculation going on.

Janine rephrased her question. ‘Did you hear or see anything that makes you think Stone may have acted on Sulikov’s say so?’

‘Lee Stone took my car,’ he said, ‘though I didn’t know that at the time. Then Sulikov rang me about it.’

‘This phone call after your car was stolen – where did Sulikov ring you from?’ said Richard.

‘His mobile. I don’t know exactly where.’

‘Poland?’ Richard pressed him.

‘No.’ Harper hesitated then added, ‘erm. . .he’s been over in the UK this week.’

Janine felt her heart punch; there was a batting sensation in her head. ‘What?’ she demanded. Her skin tightened with apprehension.

‘He’s been over here.’ Harper shuffled uncomfortably.

Unbelievable! All along they had assumed the man was on the continent and Harper had left it till now to disabuse them of this notion. Still trying to thwart their investigation? ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell us this?’ she shouted, ‘you think he killed Rosa but you’re still protecting him.’

‘I …’ he couldn’t answer. He blinked. The tic flickered.

‘Where’s he staying?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said dismissively, a little too quickly for Janine’s liking.

‘Where?’ Richard had picked up on it too.

‘Please, I can’t,’ his voice wavered.

She stared at him, restrained herself from raising her voice and used a steely tone instead. ‘Your silence has done enough damage already, now answer the question.’

‘He’ll know I told you. You’ve no idea what he’s like.’ Harper was becoming hysterical, his face contorted and reddening.

‘We’ll be discreet,’ she said.

‘Discreet! He’s a fucking maniac!’ Harper yelled, half out of his seat. ‘He’ll kill me.’

‘We’ve enough to arrest him, we’ll put him behind bars,’ she said. ‘Now you can help us or we can put you there with him, too. Your choice.’

Harper sank back, rubbing his face, trying to calm his breathing. He was very agitated.

Come on. Janine willed him, her heart beating hard. She knew without this they’d lose Sulikov; soon as he heard about the raid on the brothel he’d disappear. It wouldn’t be impossible to pursue him in Poland but it would be a lot more haphazard. He was here, in the country, under their noses. ‘Mr Harper?’

He blew a breath out, pressed the tips of his fingers to his temples. Bracing himself. His shoulders slumped and Janine knew she had won. ‘He’s at The Midland Hotel, Crowne Plaza. He’s probably left by now,’ he added feebly.

And you hope he has, Janine thought. Harper’s cowardice ran all the way through him like print through a stick of Blackpool rock. He was a weak man. Even Marta had shown more guts in telling them about Sulikov.

The Midland was one of the ritziest hotels in town. Janine and Pete had spent a weekend there in their courting days. The café and restaurant were popular meeting places and the doormen in their black top hats and red livery gave a classy feel to the place.

The receptionist, whose face fell with consternation when she saw their police identification, confirmed that Mr Sulikov was staying there. ‘Polish gentleman. He checked in Wednesday evening.’

‘Wednesday? Not earlier?’ Janine was puzzled. Rosa had been killed on Monday. Where had Sulikov been that night, or on the Tuesday? Visiting other parts of his operation? Leaving the dirty work to Stone?

‘He’s still here?’ she asked.

‘That’s right.’

Relief sluiced through her – they weren’t too late.

‘Is he in his room, now?’ asked Richard.

The receptionist turned to check the keys, then back to them shaking her head and Janine felt a lurch of disappointment.

Janine told her they needed to see the room; the woman got someone to cover the reception desk while she took them up in the lift.

Shap was just arriving as they went into the room. While the receptionist watched, Janine, Richard and Shap examined the place. It barely looked occupied: a hold-all at the foot of the bed, ruffled covers and a small toilet bag in the bathroom the only signs that Sulikov was staying there. Shap riffled through the bag in search of any documents but it held only clothes.

‘Travels light,’ Janine observed, finding it hard to keep the frustration from her voice. Too impatient, she chided herself. At least now we know where he is we’ve a damn good chance of picking him up which is a much better state than we were in three hours ago.

Janine spoke to the receptionist. ‘We’ll be leaving Sergeant Shap here to wait for Mr Sulikov. He can sit in the lobby. Now, if you can let him know once Mr Sulikov is back, other officers will be on standby and we’ll make sure there’s as little disruption as possible. And please don’t mention our visit, to anyone.’

The receptionist nodded, wide-eyed, keen to help.

Janine looked at Shap. ‘And as soon as Sulikov steps in that lift I want to know.’

Shap nodded. ‘My pleasure, boss.’

Driving back, Janine aired her thoughts with Richard. ‘He didn’t check in until Wednesday – where was he Monday night when Rosa was killed?’

‘No idea. Staying somewhere else? Upped sticks to try and cover his tracks?’ Richard braked. The traffic on Deansgate was backed up. ‘We’d have been quicker walking,’ he pointed out.

‘Raining, though,’ Janine said. ‘You got a brolly?’

‘Don’t believe in ‘em.’

‘The Lemon’ll love this.’ She stared out at the passers by, ‘Two suspects both nowhere to be seen.’

‘We’re close though, to Sulikov, at least. Run him to earth. Just a question of waiting for him to come back. We’re winning.’

‘You reckon?’ She looked at him, seeking reassurance. She was glad she was working with Richard, someone she trusted enough to be able to voice her doubts.

‘Don’t you?’ He was beginning to look tired, his complexion paler, smudged under his eyes. He was careful about his appearance, always well groomed, his clothes impeccable but no amount of tending could remove the signs of a tough case. It was getting to him like it had to her.

‘Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s like transition in labour.’

Richard frowned.

‘Lowest point, you’ve been at it for hours, you just want to give up and go home, but then it all kicks off. You don’t have any sense of how close you really are.’

‘Thanks for that,’ he pulled a face. ‘But it’s not a comparison I really want to run with.’

*****

As the security van transported them from Manchester to the holding centre in Yorkshire, Marta looked out at the night and the rain and the lights that edged the motorway. The last time she’d ridden anywhere it had been her journey into the UK from Poland. After that, it had been like living under curfew. They stayed in the house; the phone only took incoming calls.

Once she’d started at Topcat, Rosa had more freedom than the others. Loverboy Harper trusted her. She got the bus to work and now and then she called at the shops in town to get a little treat for her housemates. She would bring flowers if it was a person’s name day or good shampoo and conditioner, nice make-up for them to share.

Occasionally the girls at the brothel got tips and they would share them out. The best tipper was a man called Barry He was very rough and said horrible things; you had to pretend to cry and then he’d really beat you but afterwards he’d be nice as pie and leave an extra £10 note.

Sometimes a girl would get moved. Sulikov had other places and girls would be sent there without much warning.

Whenever Lee Stone brought anyone new Mr Harper would be around a lot, keeping an eye on things, explaining the benefit of accepting the situation and getting on with it.

‘We don’t want any trouble, do we?’ he’d say. Half threat, half reassurance.

Marta remembered her first night in the country. They’d docked at Hull and, just outside the town, they had been left to wait for a different minibus. It had been freezing, not snowy like home, just a bitter east wind that sliced through their clothes. They had waited for over an hour. When the bus arrived, the driver, Lee Stone, demanded twenty pounds from them for the fare. ‘We’ve paid for the journey already,’ Marta said.

‘Not this stretch. Cough up or stay here.’

They didn’t all follow his words but his gestures made the choice quite plain. He wouldn’t take zlotys. Some of them had changed money on the ferry He took it from them, grinning like a dog with two dicks.

It had been late afternoon as they got on the road again. The light was fading. Much of the landscape was flat, like at home. Then they had joined the motorway which climbed up into huge hills. No trees on the top, just bare grasslands, sheep here and there and regular towns in the valleys.

There was music on the radio and once or twice Marta felt a thrill of achievement. She was here. She’d made it.

She had read the signs: Leeds, Huddersfield, Oldham, Salford and wondered about pronunciation. Manchester was huge, lit by orange streetlamps. Not pretty like Krakow. Everyone had heard of Manchester. Manchester United, David Beckham and Oasis.

When the minibus had turned off a side road and stopped at an unlit shed, her heart sank. They were near a river; the headlights caught the slick of water by a quay of some sort. Was this where they had to stay? She had heard stories of people sleeping in garages and derelict warehouses. A door banged in the wind but the driver made no move to make them leave their seats.

Marta peered out. You’d never dream you were so close to the city; there were no lighted windows, no signs of life.

‘What for are we waiting?’ She knew the English wasn’t quite right but it was the best she could do.

‘Transfers,’ the man pulled a paper from his pocket, flicked on an overhead light. ‘Six going on to London.’

London! Marta’s heart quickened. London would be even better. A good place to disappear once she had saved enough money.

But when another van arrived that driver pointed to six of the other girls and waved them out of their seats to go with him. The London girls were told to give their passports to the new man. They exchanged hasty goodbyes with Marta, Zofia and Petra and wished each other luck.

Lee Stone drove them to the house and Harper had met them there. The place had recently been painted and carpeted. It smelled of cheap gloss and glue and mildew.

There was an older woman there too. She had orange dyed hair, a large bust and a wheezy voice. Her fingers were thick with rings. Mr Harper introduced her as Josie. Josie would show them the ropes, get them settled in. They should get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow there would be a party. Some of Mr Harper’s friends were coming over, keen to meet the girls.

Marta had felt her smile waver and noticed the flutter of nerves in the other girls’ responses.

‘Where are we doing the dancing?’ Zofia had asked.

‘Here darling,’ Josie had said. ‘And tomorrow we’ll sort you out with some nice new costumes.’

Marta closed her eyes. Her head still pounded and she felt sick to the stomach. No one had told them when they would be sent back to Poland. Probably Rosa’s remains would be sent back, too, so her family could bury her in the local churchyard.

If she got a chance Marta would call home; a night or two to see her own parents, find out how they were getting along. And then? She’d find out whether people could get her into Berlin or maybe Rome? Or London, she still fancied London and her English was much better now.

She looked again as the security van left the motorway and braked at a large roundabout. She stared at her own reflection in the glass, into her own eyes. London, she promised herself, next time I’ll make it to London.

*****

Back at base, Janine and Richard checked in with the incident room.

‘Nothing from the airlines,’ said Richard. They were trying to establish when and how Sulikov had entered the country