On Laughton Moor (16 page)

32

Knight made his way to his office, sat behind his desk and sighed. His team were all experienced police officers and he knew they would have seen his speech for the hope and hot air it really was. There was nothing else he could say. They had to follow every lead, go through every statement, chase up every Nick and Dave in the system in the hope that some luck would come their way, because he knew so far they had nothing. Craig Pollard’s mother was right, the journalist from the local paper, Helen Bridges, was right, Kendrick was certainly right. Knight had to admit that after the fascination and fast pace, the horror and heartbreak of London he’d expected, hoped, that Lincolnshire would be a place where he could take stock and work out whether he wanted to leave the police force altogether. He would do his job and no more. After the lucky, almost miraculous escape he’d had there would be no more playing outside the rules, no more heroics. Knight was ready for the quiet life, but Lincolnshire obviously didn’t agree. As Caitlin had said last time they’d spoken, people were the same wherever you went, from the most primitive conditions to the wealthiest homes. The circumstances may be different, the cultures and lifestyles, but in the end, the basic urges and instincts were the same the world over, as they had always been. Knight knew he’d been a fool to expect an easier ride. Wishful thinking perhaps, but not the mindset of a man happy in his work. Knight thought again of Caitlin, of the baby she carried and took out his mobile.

She answered immediately, though he could hardly hear her through the background noise. It sounded as though she was at some kind of celebration, though surely even Caitlin wouldn’t be at a party at eight thirty in the morning.

  ‘Jonathan? Hold on, just let me . . . ’ A door closed, footsteps, another door and silence. ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here. How are you?’

  ‘Oh, you know.’

  ‘Not really,’ said Knight. ‘I’ve never been pregnant.’

Caitlin made a small sound, not quite a laugh, more of a sniff.

  ‘Me neither. It’s very strange, I can tell you.’

  ‘Strange? How do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. The thought of a little creature growing inside as you go about your day, listening to what you’re doing, changing and developing. Weird, don’t you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d say weird, though it probably would take some getting used to. Does it kick? Can you feel it moving around?’

  ‘Careful, Jonathan, you almost sound interested.’

  ‘Of course I’m interested.’

  ‘You didn’t sound it last time we spoke.’

  ‘Well, what did you expect? You phone me out of the blue to tell me you’re pregnant, that the baby might or might not be mine? It’s not the sort of conversation you have every day, is it?’

  ‘I suppose not, and I did say I was sorry. To answer your questions, I haven’t felt the baby move or kick yet; that’s normal, but it should happen any time. Do you want to see a copy of the scan I had?’

Knight swallowed.

  ‘Yes, if you want me to see it. Can you see if it’s a boy or a girl?’

  ‘No, and I don’t want to know until the birth anyway.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘I’ll email it over now, I’m at my desk.’

  ‘I thought you were out somewhere.’

  ‘No, just a very noisy meeting. What’s your email address?’

Knight gave it, then waited. Caitlin stayed on the line, he could hear her breathing but she didn’t speak. The email arrived and Knight hesitated, then opened it.

  ‘Has it arrived?’ Caitlin asked. Knight imagined her filing her nails, the receiver held under her chin.

  ‘Yes, I’m looking at it. It’s amazing. I didn’t know you could email them.’

  ‘One of the IT people saved it onto my computer, I didn’t ask how. Can you see the head?’

Knight leant forward, peering at the screen.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Looks like an alien, doesn’t it?’ She laughed softly.

  ‘Has Jed seen this?’

  ‘Of course he has. He came with me, he saw it on the screen.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Jed’s my partner, of course he wanted to be there.’

  ‘But the baby might not be his?’

  ‘No, but even if he’s not the biological father, he’ll be part of the child’s life.’

Knight grimaced.

  ‘I suppose so. And the baby’s healthy, normal?’

  ‘Yes, fine so far.’

  ‘Okay, that’s good,’ Knight glanced up as Bishop peered through the glass window in his office door, then tapped on the glass. ‘I’m going to have to go, but can we keep in touch?’

  ‘Of course we can.’

  ‘I’ll speak to you soon then, and Caitlin?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Take care of yourselves, won’t you?’ He hung up on her surprised laughter. ‘Come in.’ He called to Bishop. She sat down in the chair on the opposite side of his desk. ‘Okay, Catherine?’

Bishop shook her head.

  ‘Not really.’

She held out a sheet of paper. It was creased, had obviously been folded several times. Her hand shook slightly. Knight frowned. It was another print out of a photograph, the front door of a house, a blurred figure approaching it.

  ‘Is this you?’

  ‘Yes, arrived here in this morning’s post. I stayed with my ex the night before last, when I didn’t come back to your house. I heard running feet behind me as I walked down her street, rushed up to the door as he passed. I didn’t get a look at him, but he must have been following me. I remember a flash of light, that’ll be when he took the picture. Now he knows where Louise lives. I’ll have to warn her.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll be in danger; it sounds as if he could have attacked you when he took this but he didn’t. All the same, we need to be careful. Are you sure you want to keep working on this? You can always go to a safe house too until we catch him.’

  ‘And play Scrabble with Milica Zukic? I want to find him, sir.’ Bishop hoped she sounded surer of that than she felt.

  ‘Right. We’ll keep this to ourselves for now, but we need to be vigilant.’ Knight didn’t like it, but he also didn’t want to lose Bishop from his team. The DCI wouldn’t like it, but . . .

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Milica Zukic should be arriving any minute, I want her to have a look at that house you and DC Varcoe were at, find out if it’s where she was held. I want to find out as much as we can about Woffenden, Ivona, all of them, plus who’s really in charge. Did we find out who owns the house?’

  ‘No, but Anna’s still on it. She came in early to get on, she knows it could be crucial.’

  ‘I wish we knew where Woffenden’s gone, he hasn’t left the country but that’s as far as we know. He seems to be the key, he could lead us to the people that run the whole operation. I’ve started some discreet enquiries about Zukic’s uncle too, but I’m not sure how far we’ll get with them. We can’t be too obvious, especially since they’ve flown the nest once already.’

  ‘That was only one property though, there must be more.’

  ‘No doubt, but I don’t want to cause any panic, or put Milica Zukic in any more danger than she is already.’ He deliberately tried to keep his voice casual. ‘What do you know about Dougie Hughes?’

Bishop blinked, confused.

  ‘Dougie Hughes? I told you, sir, he more or less runs the area.’

  ‘What about personally?’

  ‘Personally? I’m not sure what you mean?’

Knight shook his head in exasperation.

  ‘Neither am I really. As I said Hughes is a name I heard in London, more than once, and I thought there could be a connection.’

  ‘Personal . . . Well, Hughes’ wife is called Bernice, she runs a hairdressing salon, as I told you before. Lots of hair, red nails and lipstick; high heels and tight leopard skin make up most of her wardrobe. Just how you’d expect a gangster’s wife to be. Looks like a character in a film, or a soap opera. They’ve got a son, Richie, good looking but stupid, spent most of his life wondering which way everyone else went, I think.’

Knight leant back.

  ‘Ever heard of Paul or Malcolm Hughes?’

Bishop frowned.

  ‘No, but what. . .’

Knight stood up.

  ‘It’s probably nothing. If you haven’t heard of them, don’t worry about it, that’s what I wanted you to say.’

Bishop followed him out of the office, puzzled.

  ‘But if they’re linked to the case . . . ?’

  ‘They’re not, at least I don’t think so. If they are, you’ll be the first to know.’ Knight strode ahead, leaving Bishop to follow, feeling slightly annoyed. How could she work with him if he kept secrets from her? Talk about dangling a carrot, fishing to see what she knew and then shutting up shop. It wasn’t fair, and she didn’t think it very professional either. However, she trusted Knight without quite knowing why. She hurried forward into the small room where Milica Zukic, PC Roberts and Knight were already waiting. Zukic smiled shyly.

  ‘Hello, Miss Zukic.’ Bishop said, with a polite smile, not expecting a response and was startled to hear the reply:

  ‘Good morning.’

Knight grinned at her, and Roberts beamed proudly.

  ‘I’ve been giving Milica a quick English lesson.’ she explained. ‘Just a few phrases that might help her.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Bishop. ‘I’m impressed. You don’t speak Serbian though Nat?’

Roberts shook her head.

  ‘No, but there’s no need to. It’s surprising how much you can say with mimes and drawing, pointing, that sort of thing.’

They were interrupted by the arrival of Dr Whelan, the interpreter, who came bustling in, greeting them all loudly and complaining about the weather, reminding them it wasn’t long until Christmas and wasn’t the price of petrol scandalous.

Knight politely interrupted him and explained what they were going to do, then stood back whilst Whelan told Milica, who listened intently. Bishop noticed her clothes were new, jeans and a red hooded sweatshirt with a white T shirt underneath, black leather boots. She sidled up to Roberts, who explained that she’d been instructed to take Milica somewhere for some new clothes, been given the money to do so. They’d bought toiletries too, all from the nearest supermarket, and Bishop and Roberts agreed Milica’s appearance was much improved. Milica had spoken to her parents and also her sister, which had calmed her. Roberts also said Milica seemed much happier, less frightened than she had yesterday, and she looked less pale, more confident, smiling at Knight as he opened the door and led them out to the car. Bishop drove them to the address, and Milica peered cautiously through the window. She nodded firmly; this was the place. Bishop drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She didn’t understand what Knight had hoped to gain from this. Yes, they now knew this was definitely the place Milica had been held, if they understood her correctly, but did that knowledge move the case forward? Not that she could see. Had they really needed Whelan? Knight seemed pleased though, smiling at Zukic and Roberts. They headed back to the station, Bishop parked the car and went back up to the CID offices, still slightly bemused. Varcoe called her over.

  ‘I think I might be getting somewhere, Sarge.’

Bishop hurried over.

  ‘Really? Show me.’

Varcoe pointed to her computer screen. ‘The house is owned by a company, Central City Solutions. Another company owns that company, which is again owned by another – you get the picture. Anyway, long story short, the company behind all of them is R & D Maintenance.’

  ‘Sounds like two odd job men.’

  ‘I doubt they’ve ever done any odd jobs in their lives, just dodgy ones. The R is Richie Hughes, the D his mate Damien Spencer. I bet it’s just a sham company, set up to hide whatever else they’re involved in and we all know what that’s likely to be.’

Bishop’s face lit up.

  ‘So Dougie Hughes is involved, I bloody knew it.’

  ‘It was a dead cert really, but you can bet we won’t be able to prove it.’

  ‘And Richie Hughes and Spencer will say they’d no idea what the place was being used for, they just let to a company who let it to another one and so on.’

  ‘Same old story, but it’s a start.’

  ‘You better tell DI Knight what you’ve told me. I think he’s in his office. Great work Anna, I know this must have been really tedious.’

Varcoe smiled and went off to find Knight. Bishop glanced at the clock on the wall; if she was quick, she could have a sneaky cup of tea and a doughnut.

The canteen was quiet and Bishop sat at a corner table, sank her teeth into the doughnut and closed her eyes. She restrained herself from moaning out loud, but the temptation was there.

  ‘You look like you’re enjoying that.’ a voice said.

Bishop opened her eyes, mouth still full. Claire Weyton stood in front of her, mug in hand, grinning mischievously. Bishop attempted to smile back, couldn’t, and had to make do with a lop sided leer.