On Laughton Moor (17 page)

  ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’

The mouthful of doughnut finally disappeared and Bishop was able to speak.

  ‘Of course I don’t mind, why should I mind?’
Calm down
, she said to herself. Claire sat opposite, took a sip of her drink.

  ‘I still haven’t found any more details about the people you were asking about. I think DI Foster has been in touch?’

Bishop snorted.

  ‘Yeah, for what it was worth.’

Claire smiled uncertainly.

  ‘I didn’t mean . . . sorry. I just meant that you’ve been much more helpful.’ Bishop backpedalled. Mentally, she kicked herself.
Very smooth
, she thought. There was a short pause.

  ‘You look tired.’ Claire observed.

  ‘Thanks.’ Bishop grinned.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean. . .’ Claire blushed, fidgeting with the handle of her cup.

  ‘It’s okay, I must look tired, I definitely feel it.’

  ‘We always feel guilty, you know, going home at five thirty when all of you are still hard at work.’

  ‘There’s no need to, we signed up for this job knowing it would mean long hours, weekends. You get used to it.’

  ‘It must cause problems in your personal life, though.’

Another snort from Bishop.

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘Have you . . . do you have a partner?’

Claire sounded hesitant, almost shy, not confident and knowing as she had before.

  ‘To be honest, it’s a bit complicated. I did have, we lived together but she moved out around six months ago.  Then, the other night, she sent me a text. I went round to see her, she was talking about us trying again, getting back together. The thing is, she moved out because of my job, she couldn’t handle the hours I had to work, like we’ve just talked about. She’s a teacher, so fairly regular hours, work she can do at home . . . ’

Claire nodded in understanding.

  ‘Regular holidays  . . . ’

  ‘Exactly. She was fine at first but she got more and more fed up with it, and in the end she more or less said it was the job or her. I hesitated, and she took that to mean I was choosing the job.’

  ‘And were you?’

  ‘I didn’t think someone who loved me would ask me to choose. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’ Bishop shook her head.

  ‘Because I asked. I just . . . I thought maybe we could have a drink or something, when you’re not as busy of course, but if you’re getting back together with your ex . . . ’

  ‘I don’t know if I am, or even if I want to. I’m still in the same job, after all, and I don’t intend leaving it. The same problems will be there as far as I can see.’

  ‘Maybe you could work through them?’

  ‘We did try, I think Louise just lost patience and so did I, if I’m honest. In the end, I just thought if we were right for each other, we’d have worked harder to save the relationship.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  ‘I would like to go out for a drink, if you still want to after what I’ve told you, of course.’ She sounded hesitant, even to her own ears, though it was the last thing she felt. Claire emptied her mug and pushed back her chair, her eyes never leaving Bishop’s.

  ‘I definitely still want to.’

Bishop gazed back, felt her stomach dissolve.

  ‘You know the hours I’m working at the moment though . . . ’

‘I can wait.’ she smiled. ‘I need to get back, I’ll email you my mobile number. Take care, Catherine.’

  ‘You too.’ Bishop watched Claire take her cup over to the counter and exchange a few words with Sally who was working on the till, both ending up laughing.
She’s bloody gorgeous
, Bishop thought, shaking her head, not quite able to believe what had just happened. She had forgotten all about her doughnut and had a pleasant surprise when she realised most of it was still waiting on her plate. She saw Chris Rogers at the counter, loading his tray with a plate of lasagne and chips, a mug of coffee and a chocolate cookie. He spotted Bishop and headed towards her.

  ‘I’ve just seen Claire Weyton, was she in here with you?’

  ‘She was in here, yes.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘It’s a big room, Chris, with plenty of chairs.’

Rogers speared a few chips, pushed them into his mouth.

  ‘Ha. She was then. Bugger, I owe Simon a tenner now.’

  ‘Mind your own business.’ Bishop retorted, unable to fully suppress a grin.

  ‘We just want to see you happy, Sarge, that’s all.’

  ‘That doughnut’s made me very happy. See you later.’

33

Back in the CID room, Knight was standing with Simon Sullivan, studying a piece of paper. Knight beckoned Bishop over.

  ‘We’ve narrowed down the list of local Nicks and Daves to these. DC Sullivan and DC Rogers are taking half the list, DC Varcoe and DC Lancaster the other half. Hopefully by the end of the day we’ll have found our men, or at least have more of an idea who we can discount.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

Sullivan moved off and Knight turned to Bishop.

  ‘We need to check out the other postcodes on the list Kent’s sister gave us.’

  ‘Do you want me to do it?’

  ‘I’ve got a meeting with the Super and DCI Kendrick. You know I’ve told the team we’ll meet at five back here, do think you can make it around those postcodes before then?’

  ‘I’ll do my best, sir. Will Miss Zukic be with me?’

  ‘It’s tricky with her not speaking English and I don’t think we can ask Doctor Whelan to stay around, I’m not sure the budget would stretch to it.’

  ‘She could let me know whether she recognises a place or not though?’

  ‘That’s true. Okay then. She could always talk to a translator later, I suppose, if she can give us more information about a place. It doesn’t help that we’ve no idea what these places will be.’

  ‘I’ll just check my emails quickly and I’ll be on my way.’

Bishop strode out of the station and onto the street, Milica Zukic at her heels. Glancing over her shoulder to check Milica was still with her, Bishop crashed straight into a tall, solid figure as she rounded the corner towards the car park.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Bishop said, steadying herself and glanced at the person she’d almost knocked over. She looked again as she recognised Mike Pollard. ‘Mr Pollard? What are you doing here?’

Mike glared at her, adjusting his jacket and pulling his knitted hat further over his ears.

  ‘You could have broken my ribs, why don’t you look where you’re going?’

  ‘I asked you what you’re doing hanging around outside the police station, Mike?’

Pollard was furious.

  ‘I wasn’t “hanging around”, as you put it, I’m on my way to a job interview, if you must know.’

Bishop raised an eyebrow.

  ‘At the police station?’

  ‘No, not at the police station, you must be joking. I can do better than that. At a solicitor’s, not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘All right Mike,’ Bishop beckoned to Milica Zukic. ‘It might be a good idea to surround yourself with people who know the law.’

She marched off leaving Pollard gawping after her, his expression thunderous. Once in the car, she sent Knight a quick text explaining what had happened. It was time they had another look at Craig Pollard’s brother and probably his not so broken hearted girlfriend too.

Bishop wanted to sing along to the radio as she drove, but didn’t want to subject Milica Zukic to her voice. Milica seemed happy enough though Bishop wasn’t convinced she understood where they were going. She seemed pleased just to be out of the station and Bishop could understand that. The first postcode took them to a village, a row of stone cottages, pretty and well maintained. Milica shook her head. She seemed to be looking wistfully at the scene and Bishop wondered if she was thinking of her home and family or was thinking about the life she could have had. She wanted to tell Milica that she was young, she could still achieve all she’d planned, but of course she didn’t have the words to do so. The next postcode brought them to another village and another headshake from Milica. Bishop was beginning to feel a little dispirited and hoped this wasn’t going to be a waste of time. It was a similar story with the next two places, a housing estate and a warehouse complex. Milica had obviously never been to either before.  A half hour drive brought them to the location of the final postcode, and this time as soon as Bishop slowed the car down, Milica was sitting forward, alert. She nodded her head firmly several times, said a few words before remembering Bishop couldn’t understand. Bishop knew what she meant though – they’d arrived at a row of lock up storage units, bigger than the average garage attached to a house. She assumed this was where Kent had collected Milica. They’d have to call in Doctor Whelan to be sure, but what else could Milica mean? Bishop parked in front of the first lock up, turned off the engine and looked around. There was no one in sight. She turned to Milica, trying to say through mime that she was going to get out of the car, have a quick look around, and that Milica should stay where she was. Milica frowned at first, then smiled and nodded again.

Bishop got out and wandered over to the first set of double doors. She wouldn’t have been able to get inside any of the doors even if she had wanted to, which, without a warrant, wasn’t advisable. She just wanted to walk around, make sure there was nothing suspicious. For all she knew, there could be frightened girls behind any of these doors. She stepped closer, listening, eyes searching, then heard an engine behind her and turned. A white van had appeared. It parked next to her car; the driver’s door flew open and a man leapt out wearing gloves and a baseball cap with a dark scarf covering his face, leaving only his eyes exposed. He ran to the passenger door of Bishop’s car, wrenched it open and reached inside, grabbing Milica Zukic’s arms and trying to drag her from the car. She screamed then shouted, struggling and kicking. The man realised her seatbelt was still fastened and tried to reach across her to undo it with Milica trying to push his hands away. Bishop stared, frozen, then ran back towards the car, shouting, ‘Stop, police, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ He looked wildly across at Bishop as she bore down on the car, struggling to yell into her Airwave handset for backup. She had no choice, but running towards a man who could be armed when she was alone probably wasn’t the best idea. Bishop was almost at the car, still bellowing at him that she was a police officer, Milica still fighting and screeching in Serbian, when he seemed to finally take in what Bishop was saying, abruptly dropped Milica back into her seat, sprinted back towards the van and scrambled in. His vehicle shot forward down the line of lock ups, hurtling around the corner at the end and out of sight. Bishop gabbled a description of the van into her handset as she wrenched open the driver’s door of her car and set off in pursuit, Milica still shouting and leaning forward hoping to see which way her would be abductor had turned.

34

Bishop sat at her desk, head in her hands as Varcoe silently placed a mug of tea at her elbow as she passed on the way to her own desk. Knight stood beside Bishop, frowning.

  ‘You did nothing wrong, you know, I would have done exactly the same.’ he said.

Bishop lifted her head and stared at him.

  ‘He almost had her, if it hadn’t been for the seatbelt . . . I should have locked the door or stayed in the car.’

  ‘She’s fine, that’s all that matters, and on her way to a safe house.’

  ‘I’m going to get my arse kicked for this though, aren’t I?’

  ‘For protecting a witness, ensuring her safety?’

  ‘She ensured her own safety, I wouldn’t want to be in a fight with her.’

  ‘The DCI is just happy she’s still in our hands. It’s after five, let’s get to the conference room.’

Bishop slowly got to her feet, noticed the tea and picked it up raising it shakily to her lips.

  ‘Thanks, Anna.’ she said, as the DC followed her to the door. ‘How did your Nick and Dave hunting go?’

  ‘Pretty well, we narrowed our list down to two Nicks, three Daves. Not sure how the others got on. Are you okay?’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry about me.’

In the conference room, Knight was pacing in front of the assembled officers. Bishop and Varcoe found chairs, sitting down as he spoke.

  ‘Just to let you all know that we found the van driven by Milica Zukic’s attacker abandoned in a lay by just out of town. We think our man phoned one of his mates who picked him up. Chances are, he won’t be very popular when he tells his boss he could have snatched her but has come back empty handed, which is why Miss Zukic is on her way to a safe house as we speak.’

  ‘Shows she’s still important to them though.’ said Chris Rogers.

  ‘Exactly, even though they must realise she’s been with us since Steven Kent’s death and has had plenty of time to share all she knows.’

  ‘Do we think the attempt to grab her was planned, or did he just happen to be going to the lock up and recognise her?’ Sullivan said.

  ‘We’ve no way of knowing, though DS Bishop didn’t notice anyone following her. As it was just one man, I’d guess it was spur of the moment, he saw his chance and tried to grab it – and her. Little did he know he’d have a fight on his hands.’

  ‘Any chance of any fingerprints, trace evidence that could help us identify him?’

  ‘He was wearing leather gloves, a cap and a scarf over his face. I didn’t recognise him but I couldn’t swear I’ve never seen him before, I’ve no way of knowing. Miss Zukic’s going to be interviewed when she’s safe but she didn’t seem to know him, I didn’t recognise any names in what she was shouting.’ Bishop said.

  ‘Plenty of Serbian swearing going on too I bet,’ grinned Rogers.

Knight asked Varcoe and Lancaster to update them on what they’d learnt that day, and then Rogers and Sullivan. Progress had been made and they were down to five men called Nick or Nicholas, seven Daves or Davids. Knight was quietly pleased, offering encouragement. He asked Varcoe to share what she’d learnt about the ownership of the property she and Bishop had visited, which she did to general approval. There wasn’t a copper in the place who would be sorry to see Dougie Hughes or any of his family behind bars. Knight calmed them down, warned them they were a long way from that. They still needed to find Ron Woffenden, plus chances of tracking down the man who’d tried to snatch Milica Zukic were slim. Still, it felt as though they were moving in the right direction. Sullivan and Rogers were going out again to attempt to track down a few more of the men on their lists before heading home for the day, while Varcoe and Lancaster were going to see Mike Pollard. As the room emptied, Knight called Bishop over.

  ‘Why don’t you call it a day, finish early for a change? You’ve got my spare key.’

  ‘I’ve got things to get on with, sir. I don’t want to leave when others are still working.’

  ‘It’s up to you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She turned away from him.

Knight hesitated, then made his way to the incident room. Bishop was looking paler by the hour, and though he doubted she would ever admit it, he knew she was struggling. How long before DCI Kendrick noticed it too?

Bishop stubbed her toe on the corner of her desk as she hurried around it to pick up the phone. It had been ringing since she stepped back into the CID office and she didn’t want to miss the call.

  ‘Ow, shit, bloody hell . . . Hello?’

  ‘Is that DS Bishop?’

  ‘Yes, speaking.’

  ‘DI Foster. I’ve got a couple of names for you.’

Bishop thought fast. ‘DI Foster, of course. Thank you.’ She fumbled for a pen and scrap of paper. ‘And how do you spell that . . . Okay, that’s great, thanks very much.’

Two names, at last. She leant forward, hands poised over the keyboard. Her mobile started ringing in her bag, and she rummaged for it. Her eyes widened when she saw the caller’s name.

  ‘Hello, Louise?’

  ‘Catherine? I can hardly hear you.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m in the office, you know the signal’s not great.’

  ‘I thought you were going to call?’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. I’ve had a crap day.’

  ‘And you’re still at work?’

  ‘It’s only just gone six Louise, of course I am.’

  ‘I only asked.’

Bishop sighed.

  ‘I know you did.’

  ‘So I won’t see you tonight?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s fine, give me a ring when you can fit me in.’

Louise hung up. Bishop stared at the phone.
So
much for a new start and being understanding, Louise
, she thought. She scrolled through her emails until she found Claire Weyton’s phone number and typed a text message, her heart pounding
:
How about that drink tonight
?
She quickly placed the phone face down on her desk, almost afraid to read any reply that Claire might send.
What are you doing, Catherine?
She concentrated on her monitor, but found no records for either of the names Foster had given her. She picked up desk phone again, called down to the incident room and told Knight about her conversation with Foster.

  ‘Why don’t you go home and I’ll see what I can dig up on them?’ Knight said.

  ‘I’ve already said . . . ’ Bishop glanced at her mobile as it beeped – a text message. She snatched it up, held her breath and read the message
:
Any time
x
   ‘Then again, sir, you might have a point. It’s been a long day. You will let me know what you find?’

  ‘If you’re up when I get in.’

  ‘I might go out for a few hours, meet a friend.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I’ll send you a text.’ Knight said hurriedly. He paused. ‘I know I’ve said this before, but be careful.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

Bishop put the phone down, already typin
g
On my way, where? X