On Laughton Moor (10 page)

  ‘Please . . . water?’ she said, her English heavily accented. She swayed on her feet and Bishop moved forward quickly, taking her arm.

  ‘All right, you’re okay.’

The uniformed constable was beckoned back over and he led the woman gently to a nearby squad car. She sat in the back, gratefully sipping from a bottle of orange juice. Knight ran a hand over his hair.

  ‘That might explain why he was taking the scenic route.’ he commented dryly.

  ‘As good a reason as any,’ agreed Bishop. ‘As if things weren’t complicated enough.’

They gave the woman in the squad car sideways glances.

  ‘We need to interview her.’

  ‘Yep. Sooner the better.’

They walked over to the squad car, the uniformed constable closing the back door as they approached so the woman was effectively locked inside.

  ‘How is she?’ Bishop offered a smile in the woman’s direction.

  ‘She doesn’t speak much English, Sarge, it’s hard to say. She’s not as pale as she was though.’

  ‘So we’re going to struggle to interview her?’

  ‘I think you’d need an interpreter, sir.’

Knight took out his mobile. ‘I’ll get someone set up at the station to help us.’

16

In the video interview suite, Bishop and Varcoe sat opposite the woman, who they now knew was called Milica Zukic, and the interpreter, a man from the local university who seemed to speak every European language you could mention.  Zukic was thin, her light brown hair string, in need of a wash and a cut. She now wore a navy sweatshirt and jogging bottoms that the desk sergeant had produced from somewhere. Doctor Whelan was plump, bespectacled, mid forties and very keen to help. Knight sat in the next room, in front of a monitor. He wanted Catherine and Anna to conduct the interview, but he also wanted to see what Milica Zukic had to say first hand. He had a briefing scheduled after the interview with the DCI and also the Super, who wanted to attend. Knight hadn’t seen much of Superintendent Jane Stringer so far, but he had known that she would be involved sooner or later, especially after this latest development. He focused on the monitor in front of him. Bishop smiled reassuringly at the young woman on the other side of the table. ‘Please could you ask Milica to tell us where she’s from, a little about her background and how she came to be in the UK?’ she said to Whelan. He nodded eagerly.

  Bishop closed the door of the interview room softly behind her, leaving Varcoe behind with Dr Whelan and Milica Zukic. Knight met her in the corridor.

  ‘I feel like I need a shower.’ she said, shaking her head. Knight nodded.

  ‘I know what you mean. How about we put her in one of the cells for now? She could have killed him, of course, but I didn’t see any blood on her or in the van, and even if she changed her clothes afterwards, we’ll find them. She could have been in the passenger seat, lunged across and attacked him as he drove, forced him to stop, nipped out and smashed his head in when he got out, but I really don’t see it. For a start, he looked quite a big bloke, and she must be what? Eight stone?’

  ‘About that I should think. Anyway, she couldn’t have padlocked herself into the back of the van. Plus, we need to consider the link to the Craig Pollard murder and how could she have met him, not to mention killed him?’

  ‘True. Since she was on the move, there must be a grubby shithole somewhere expecting her, and as soon as the news breaks about the latest murder, which no doubt it will soon, they’ll realise she must have been found. At least in a cell she’ll be safe and can get some sleep. Can you get onto Intelligence, see if any of the names she’s mentioned ring any bells? We’d better find out about her papers too, if she is actually allowed to be in the country. When we’ve got a name and address confirmed for our victim, we’ll get a photo over to Pollard’s parents and brother again, see if they recognise him.’

Bishop hesitated then said,

  ‘Sir – Jonathan - do you think I’ll be taken off the case?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Two victims, both with messages that refer to me, I thought I might be. Just thinking about how it might look to the public, to a jury?’

  ‘Do you want to be taken off it?’

  ‘No, not at all. If anything, this second murder makes me all the more determined to find out what the hell’s going on.’

Knight grinned.

  ‘Just what I expected you to say. I can promise you, Sergeant, I’ll do what I can to make sure you stay where you are.’

Bishop let out a breath, grateful for Knight’s understanding, but also for the fact that he hadn’t seemed to notice her discomfort at the crime scene earlier.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I need to get up to the Super’s office now, but let’s catch up later.’

Knight strode away and Bishop headed over to the custody sergeant to arrange to check their guest in.

17

Knight paused outside the Superintendent’s door, hearing Kendrick’s rumbling tones inside the office. He knocked, and Kendrick himself yanked the door open from inside. The room was light and airy, the walls painted an uninspiring magnolia, the carpet tiles a slightly newer looking version of the stained and tired looking ones that covered the floor of the CID office. A few plants dotted the room and there were the usual chipped bookcases and battered filing cabinets.  A low coffee table and a couple of armchairs stood in one corner. Stringer had attempted some personal touches, such as a brightly coloured rug on the floor and a few cheerful, modern prints on the walls. The Superintendent herself was a tall, slender woman, with immaculately styled straight blonde hair and perfect, understated make up. She could easily play the role of the headteacher of an exclusive public school, or lady of the manor.

Jane Stringer stood as Knight entered the room, offering a pinched smile. She wore a tailored black skirt with a matching jacket, and a pristine white blouse. Her appearance and whole demeanour conveyed a clear message to Knight – “I am in charge here. Get me results”.

  ‘Jonathan. Do sit down.’ She gestured at the chair next to the one in which Kendrick had resettled himself. Stringer smoothed nonexistent creases from her skirt, straightened a silver photograph frame that she judged to   be slightly askew on her desktop, and sat.

  ‘Thank you, Ma’am.’ Knight up as straight as he could. Like Kendrick, Jane Stringer had that effect.

  ‘Now,’ Stringer clasped long, elegant fingers in front of her, ‘How have we got on with our unexpected

witness?’

  ‘I’m not sure she witnessed much at all, Ma’am, I’m afraid.’ Knight said. ‘The basic facts: she’s twenty two, and from Serbia. Her uncle, Dimitar, was well known, important, and it was he who suggested perhaps his niece would care to try her luck earning some money in the UK. He told her she could make a fortune.’

Stringer shook her head, and Kendrick gave a snort.

  ‘I wonder how she was going to do that?’ he remarked.

  ‘Well, she said her journey Britain alerted her to the fact that the future might not be as bright as her uncle had painted it. She stowed in the back of vans or the cabs of lorries and she still isn’t sure how she had actually arrived in the country. One of the trucks she had been on must have crossed the sea by ferry. She’s sure she didn’t fly in, but . . . ’

  ‘Very unlikely.’ Stringer commented. Knight nodded agreement, then resumed his story.

  ‘The last lorry, the one she must have crossed the sea in, took her to some sort of garage with a small apartment attached. A young man had met her, gave her food and said she could have a shower and rest. After a few hours rest on the bed, during which time she dozed but didn’t sleep, she heard raised voices, arguing. She heard her uncle’s name several times, but didn’t understand enough English to follow the rest. After a while,  she heard footsteps on the stairs. A second man came in; he looked like a wolf she said, “Vuk”, and in her mind, that was what she called him. She heard other people call him Ron afterwards.’

Stringer opened a desk drawer and removed a smart looking notepad and elegant fountain pen. She made a few notes, then glanced at Knight.

  ‘Go on, please.’

  ‘This man told her he told her this was usually when he would “try out” the new arrivals himself before sending them on, but as she was the “precious” niece of Dimitar Raskovic, he would control himself.’

  ‘Very good of him.’ Kendrick put in scornfully.

Knight sat back, organising his thoughts. The Super wouldn’t want all the details, not everything Zukic had told them, but he felt it was important, essential in fact, that as much of her story was heard as possible. They had all heard very similar versions before, of course, but Zukic had given them names, she was observant and intelligent and Knight felt they had a good chance of catching up with the traffickers, using her information. He began to talk again, almost watching the events unfold in his mind as he spoke, much like Zukic must have, though his were imagined images, not painful memories as hers were. ‘This “Vuk” grabbed her, bundled her into the back of a van. She thought they drove for over an hour, closer to two, when eventually they stopped. He came to the back doors of the van, stuck his head in and told her that she needed to get out and walk with him into a house without drawing attention to herself. If she did anything stupid, he warned, even her uncle wouldn’t be able to save her.’

  ‘Did she notice anything at all that could help us?’ Stringer wanted to know.

  ‘It was a terraced street, from her description, a row of very similar houses. She could hear traffic noise and sirens, the sound of children playing nearby.’

  ‘Town then, not out in the sticks somewhere.’ Kendrick observed.

  ‘Inside the house was a woman, huge, Milica said.’

  ‘Obese?’ asked Stringer.

  ‘Yes, apparently so. They hustled Milica down the hallway, which she described as dark with a dirty red carpet, and into the kitchen. The whole house stank of perfume and cigarette smoke, she said, but the kitchen was the worst, filthy. She could describe it all in detail. The Vuk had gone and she lost it a bit, demanded to know where she was and what was going on. This woman slapped her face, yelled at her, and a huge bloke came in, picked Milica up and carried her upstairs and into a bedroom. They locked the door, left here there to calm down. Eventually, the woman came back and asked Milica if she was going to behave herself. She said she would. The woman introduced herself as Ivona, said Milica was going to live in the house, work there doing the cleaning and also go out to work in factories or wherever she was needed.’

  ‘So she just cleaned? It wasn’t a brothel?’ asked Stringer, pen poised.

  ‘Oh yes, it was a brothel,’ Knight said, grim faced. ‘She talked about cleaning the bedrooms around the sleeping girls, said some were even younger than her seventeen year old sister at home in Serbia. There were rooms with hearts on the doors that she was only allowed into when she was told to clean them. The ‘heavy’ work went on in there, Ivona told her, but she was excused as she was Dimitar Raskovic’s niece – there were other girls for that, she said. She was just the cleaner.’

  ‘Bad enough.’ Kendrick said, stretching his legs and cracking his knuckles. Stringer frowned distaste at him.

  ‘And what about our victim, Jonathan? How did she come to be in the back of his van?’

  ‘She couldn’t tell us a lot. Yesterday, Ivona came in in a hurry, told Milica to pack up her stuff quickly, they were moving out. The Vuk came, took Milica to some kind of building, smelt like a garage, she said. He locked her in, told her to wait and she’d be collected. Our victim arrived some time later, helped Milica into the back of his van. They’d been driving along at what seemed to be a normal speed when they stopped very suddenly – she’d been dozing, she thought, but she slid along the floor of the van and hit the partition . She could hear the driver shouting, then he slammed the door and she heard nothing from him after that. She couldn’t say how long she had sat there, hours, she thought, but they didn’t move off again. She couldn’t see anything, being in the back, and she couldn’t get out.’

Stringer gave a curt nod.

  ‘So she was able to give us some names, although who knows how much help they’ll be. Who’s following up on this? DS Bishop?’

  ‘Yes, she’s liaising with Intelligence, see what she can find out.’ Knight said firmly. Kendrick glanced at him.

  ‘It would be very positive if we could close down a gang of people traffickers as well as catch whoever killed Pollard and this new victim, Inspector.’ Stringer said pointedly.

  ‘Yes, Ma’am, it would,’ Knight agreed. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ll have to leave now if I’m to make it to the PM on time.’ he said, half getting to his feet.

  ‘Fine.’ said Stringer, already turning back to her computer. ‘Keep me informed, Jonathan.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Knight said, fighting the urge to salute her.