On Laughton Moor (18 page)

35

Dave Bowles was in bed, curled on his side, mind racing. What could he do? Nick would know, Nick would come for him. He could be outside now, walking down the path, opening the door. He listened, eyes roaming the room. Nothing. Maybe it wouldn’t be tonight. He should have gone to the police years ago and confessed. Maybe it would have been all right. It was too late now though. They would blame him, he knew it. He would have to wait until whoever had killed Craig and Steve found him too, unless he could think of another way quickly.

36

Bishop saw Claire immediately, sitting alone at a table in the corner, sipping a glass of red wine. She stood as Bishop approached.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘It’s okay, I’ll buy.’

  ‘No, please, let me.’

  ‘Same as you is fine then, thanks.’ Bishop stammered, hardly aware of what she was saying. Claire smiled and went over to the bar. Bishop watched, her stomach churning.
What are you doing? What about Louise?
She ignored her own voice in her head as Claire came back to the table and handed her the wine. Bishop took a gulp.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’

  ‘I know, I finished early.’

Claire nodded, knowing better than to ask. There was a silence.
Well, this is awkward,
Bishop thought, glancing around the pub. She took another swallow of wine. It wasn’t a drink she would usually have chosen, but it didn’t taste too bad. She was very aware of Claire’s thigh close to her own, the smell of her perfume. All at once, Bishop had an urge to tell Claire everything, the messages left by the murderer of Pollard and Kent, the photograph taken through her own window, her worries and fears, the plight of Milica Zukic and the others in the house. Louise . . .

  ‘Catherine?’

Bishop looked up.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You were miles away.’ Claire’s voice was gentle.

  ‘I’m sorry, I just . . . ’

Here goes
she thought, her hand seeking out Claire’s where it rested on the bench between them. Smooth, warm, slightly larger than her own. She stroked her thumb over Claire’s fingers, felt her respond, heard her quiet intake of breath. Claire moved closer, her fingers entwining with Bishop’s. They sat quietly, savouring the moment. Claire drained her wineglass.

  ‘Can I get you another?’ Bishop said softly.

Claire looked into her eyes.

  ‘Shall we go?’

Bishop gazed back. This was the moment when she had to choose to stay on the path she’d always taken, or make the leap. She knew she had no choice, that this was going to happen however much she tried to persuade herself it couldn’t. She nodded gravely, and Claire smiled.

Claire was staying in a hotel down by the river, close to the centre of town. They walked quickly, not touching, not speaking. Afterwards, Bishop couldn’t have said what route they took, if they saw anyone as they hurried along. Bishop’s mind was still filled with all the reasons why this shouldn’t happen, as well as the knowledge that it would. It was only as the door closed behind them and Claire reached for her, their mouths meeting urgently, that she felt herself relax. All her worries, temporarily at least, were forgotten.

37

  In Kendrick’s office, Knight waited until the DCI had closed his mouth after a huge yawn.

  ‘Time I was at home, I’ll be turning into a pumpkin at this rate. It’s the end of another day, where are we?’

  ‘I think we’re definitely making progress, but . . . ’

  ‘Come on, don’t play the bloody mystery man with me, Jonathan. Tell me what you’re thinking.’

  ‘It’s just that the house Milica Zukic was held in is owned, ultimately, by a bloke called Richie Hughes,’ Kendrick made a noise that indicated disgust, ‘and more than once I came across the name Hughes in London, Malc Hughes. It just so happens he has a cousin called Dougie.’

  ‘Our friendly local self-styled gangster. Too much of a coincidence.’

  ‘Just what I thought.’

  ‘Dougie Hughes is a nasty, slippery bastard. I’m presuming there’s a family resemblance?’

Knight’s left hand touched his right shoulder blade, then moved away ‘Yeah, sounds just like Malc.’

  ‘Involved in people trafficking?’

  ‘I’d heard rumours, but you know what it’s like – no one wants to point the finger.’

  ‘So what are you suggesting?’ Kendrick leant back in his chair, which groaned beneath him.

  ‘I don’t know. We could never bring Malc Hughes in for anything at all, and from what DS Bishop’s told me, you’ve had the same problem up here with his cousin.’

  ‘Exactly right. All sorts of rumours, no substance. We know, but we can’t prove it. We do have Miss Zukic in a safe house?’

  ‘Yes, as discussed with the Super.’

  ‘And we’ve narrowed down those lists of names?’

  ‘Only three Daves, two Nicks left.’

  ‘Sod’s law it’ll be the last ones we get to. Wouldn’t it have been a good idea to have more officers on it?’

  ‘I used everyone I could. We’ll get there.’

  ‘Fair enough. What do you suggest we do about Milica Zukic? She can’t stay here indefinitely.’

  ‘No, I think she’s keen to go back to Serbia.’

  ‘Can’t blame her.’

  ‘I’d feel happier if she stayed here at least until the Pollard and Kent murders are closed.’

  ‘The cost . . .’

  ‘Give me a few more days.’

  ‘Fine. A few more.’ Kendrick looked at Knight knowingly. ‘You want to have a crack at Hughes, don’t you? The whole family.’

  ‘Of course I do. Don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, I’d love to see them all sent down, but we can’t go barging in. They’ve got money, connections, and the power to make our lives very difficult.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  ‘So we go slowly, tiptoe around them, see what else we can find out. I’ll talk to the Super, tell her what we know. Has Milica Zukic said any more?’

  ‘She was able to tell Whelan exactly which lock up she’d been in. I’m not sure how she knew, but we’ll get the fingerprint people in there first thing tomorrow morning, see what we can find.’

  ‘How’s DS Bishop holding up?’

  ‘She seems okay. She had no idea who Kent was, she’s not been back to her house but I had Simon Sullivan call in there, with Catherine’s permission of course, nothing suspicious in her post, no more messages or photos. The only thing is, another photo turned up here today, DS Bishop going into a friend’s house the night before last.’

  ‘Christ, so he’s followed her? I thought the messages were left with the bodies?’

  ‘So far, but the photo was posted to her flat, this latest to the station.’

  ‘Of course. We don’t want any more. You’re sure Catherine’s not in danger? Sounds dodgy to me.’

  ‘She’s very keen to stay on the case.’

  ‘It might not be her decision. Let’s play that by ear, we’ll talk again in the morning about it, see if more photos turn up in tomorrow’s post. I’ve never known anything like it.’

  ‘Catherine got two names from Intel, people they believe were involved with the house Milica Zukic was held in. A man and a woman they were expecting to find when they raided the house, except of course the raid didn’t happen. I’ve spoken to a few people and I think the man could be harder to trace, but the woman is interesting, I’m wondering if she could be the Ivona Milica Zukic told us about.’

  ‘How could they have allowed them all to leave that house? Wasn’t it under surveillance?’

  ‘You’d have thought so. I don’t know the details.’

  ‘What’s this woman’s name?’

  ‘Jasna Dijlas.’

  ‘We still don’t know where she’s gone though?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And we don’t know if any of this is linked to Pollard and Kent’s deaths?’

  ‘Not for sure.’

  ‘Let’s concentrate on finding our man for those two first, keep this on the back burner for now. I want to get them as much as you do, but our priority has to be the murders.’

  ‘I know, but this . . . ’

   ‘Afterwards.’

  ‘Fine.’

38

Dave Bowles had no idea how long he’d been in bed. He would have to get up soon, if only to hurry to the bathroom before his bladder exploded. He reached for the bottle of whiskey and took a huge mouthful. One more wouldn’t hurt. Wincing as it burned, he clambered unsteadily out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. He managed to use the toilet without falling which seemed to him quite an achievement, then stumbled over to the medicine cabinet a previous tenant had fixed to the wall above the sink. A blotchy face stared back at him from the mirrored doors, eyes bloodshot, nose and mouth surrounded with dried mucus. Bowles could remember bawling like a baby at some point, sobbing out the years of pain and guilt. Managing to open the cabinet, he fumbled through the contents. Shaving foam, spare razor blades which he placed unsteadily on the sink, soap, shower gel and two packets of condoms, unopened and probably out of date. The paracetamol went next to the razor blades. Bowles turned on the hot tap, scooped some water into his hands and washed his face. It didn’t help so he repeated the process with cold water and that felt better, he could fool himself into thinking he was more alert, thinking straight. He would have to go out. Tottering back to the bedroom, he lost his balance and stumbled against the wall. Leaning there he started to giggle, a response that struck him as odd given his situation. Eventually managing to reach the bedroom, he sat on the bed and made several attempts to pull his jeans on before eventually succeeding. The walk downstairs would be tricky but he knew he’d have to do it, then out into the street and to the all night garage and the twenty four hour supermarket. Then he would decide.

It was Nick Brady’s round and he’d have to buy it, he couldn’t admit to his mates he was worried about money. They’d already taken the piss when he’d told them he was jobless again. He leant on the bar, brooding. They all had jobs, not great jobs most of them, and they all did a fair amount of moaning, but they were working all the same. He didn’t want to take up his mum’s offer of asking around for work, but he might have to swallow his pride in the end. The job centre hadn’t been exactly helpful so far and he hadn’t seen much in the papers or online either. He bought the drinks and went back to the pool table where two of the lads were in the middle of a game, the others standing around watching. Brady thought he’d probably call it a night after this pint, he wasn’t in the mood. The walk home should clear his head, it had been cold but dry when he’d arrived at the pub and he had a lot on his mind. The police were making little progress in finding who had killed Pollard and Kent according to the newspapers, and Brady still wasn’t sure what to do. So far, he’d chosen to keep quiet and see what happened and it had worked except for the constant stream of questions in his head, the guilt and worry. He knew it was possible he was at risk too, but he wasn’t seriously concerned. He’d moved out of town after all and no one knew much about him here, even the blokes he was drinking with. Anyway, from what he’d heard, Pollard had been too pissed to fight back and Brady intended to be on his guard until he heard the police had their man. There was still the possibility that Pollard and Kent’s deaths had nothing to do with  that day on the moor, or so Brady kept telling himself. It could be a coincidence and until Brady heard otherwise, he was staying out of it. He drained his glass, set it on the bar, said his goodbyes and made his way out into the night. Glancing up and down the street, he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets then removed them, realising it made him vulnerable. He hated feeling like this and even though it might be paranoia, he wasn’t going to take any chances. At least he was fairly well built. If he’d been only as big as Dave, he’d be more concerned. Unless he’d filled out since Brady saw him last, Dave’s small frame would surely make him an easier target. Brady started walking, almost slowly enough to convince himself he wasn’t scared.

39

  ‘So let me get this straight. You had her trapped and you let her go?’

Richie Hughes bowed his head.

  ‘I’ve said I’m sorry.’

  ‘A lot of good sorry is, you useless little shit.’ His father’s voice was quiet, his anger contained, for the moment at least. Richie hated that tone, he’d rather his dad yell at him like his mum did. The restraint was a bad sign.

  ‘She’s been with the police for hours anyway, she’ll have told them all she knows by now.’

His father moved to stand directly behind where Richie sat at the marble breakfast bar in the huge house Dougie and Bernice Hughes called home. Hughes made a sudden movement, grabbing as much of son’s hair as he could in his meaty fist and twisting it until the younger man cried out in pain.

  ‘This is nothing to what Malc will do to you when he hears. How hard can it be? She’s only tiny, for God’s sake.’

  ‘She was with a copper.’ Richie managed to gasp.

  ‘So what? The copper wasn’t even in the car, if you’d have undone the seatbelt straight away you could have got Zukic out before she even knew you were there.’

  ‘She fought back, you should have sent Damien with me.’ Richie tried again. His father released his hair, slowly moving to Richie’s side.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ The quiet voice was back and Richie panicked, realising he’d made a mistake. ‘This was my fault, of course, I see it now. I ask you to go to the lock up, make sure everything’s okay and while you’re there you have a golden opportunity to get back what’s ours, and what do you do? You lose her, and all because I was stupid enough to expect you’d be able to do a simple task like that alone.’

He lunged at Richie, who cowered. Hughes didn’t actually strike his son, but the gesture was enough to send Richie scampering from the room. Hughes picked up the phone that lay on the worktop and dialled his cousin’s number, stored in his own memory, not in the phone’s.

  ‘It’s me. We’ve got a problem. Richie tried to grab Zukic without realising she was sitting in a cop car. She’s disappeared again.’

There was a silence. Dougie Hughes braced himself for the explosion.

  ‘He didn’t realise? What, the big yellow stripes and blue lights on the top weren’t a big enough clue for him? Not to mention the word POLICE in foot high letters along the side?’

  ‘It was unmarked.’

  ‘I know, Dougie, I know. Jesus. They still stand out a mile, how stupid is that lad of yours?’

Dougie gritted his teeth. ‘Fairly.’

  ‘You’re telling me. So what’s happening?’

  ‘Well, they didn’t catch Richie. He phoned Damien and met him in a lay by, they disappeared for a few hours until things calmed down and he’s just come to tell me.’

  ‘Where did it happen?’

  ‘Outside the lock up.’

  ‘Shit, so they know about that? How could they? Everyone who’s ever been there has been in the back of a van, including Zukic.’

  ‘I know, but that’s where they were. They must have been asking Zukic which one she thought it was but how they found them in the first place, I don’t know.’

Both men paused to consider this, until Malc said, ‘Kent. Has to be.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’

  ‘Because he’s dead and the police are trying to find out why and who killed him. They wouldn’t have to look that far to find a link to us with Milica bloody Zukic was still in the back of his van when he was killed. I still can’t believe our luck there.’

  ‘I know, what were the chances?’

  ‘We used him too often really, we should have found someone else. Still, too late now.’

  ‘Doesn’t explain how they found the lock up though. Like you said, Zukic wouldn’t have known where it was, even if she recognised it when she saw it, and she shouldn’t have been able to do that, Kent must have let her walk out to his van, useless sod.’

  ‘True. I wouldn’t put it past them to drive her to every possible place though, every row of warehouse and lock up garages in Lincolnshire, especially if Knight’s involved. He’s a stubborn bastard, I’ll give him that. He probably drove her round himself.’

  ‘No, it was a woman with Zukic, even Richie noticed that. Surely Knight’s learnt his lesson?’’

  ‘You don’t know Knight.’

  ‘And you do?’

  ‘Well enough, and I made sure he won’t forget me in a hurry.’

They laughed knowingly until Dougie’s good humour was interrupted by a fit of coughing.

  ‘Christ . . . ’ He cleared his throat energetically.

‘You should give up the fags you know.’

  ‘Bernice has already got me cutting down on the booze.’

  ‘Never thought I’d see the day. Seriously, though – Zukic. They’ll have stashed her away somewhere. Any ideas?’

  ‘I don’t understand why you want her so badly.’

  ‘Are you joking? She owes us, we gave her a place to live, a bed, a job – and not the job we originally had in mind for her either. She wouldn’t have been in that van if she’d been on the heavy work and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

  ‘We don’t want to piss her uncle off though.’

  ‘He wants her found as much as we do. I spoke to him this afternoon.’

  ‘What does he want to do with her?’

  ‘Search me. Probably ship her back home and forget all about her, but he’s not the one who’s put his hand in his pocket for her bed and board all these months, not to mention her wages. We did her a favour, more than one, and she repays us by going snivelling to the police.’

Dougie frowned.

  ‘She didn’t have much choice though, Malc. They found her in Kent’s van, they weren’t just going to let her go when they knew he’d been murdered.’

  ‘She could have played dumb.’

  ‘Maybe she did. We don’t know what she’s told them. What did she really know anyway?’

  ‘Ivona’s name for one. Probably Ron’s, he was always panting after her.’

  ‘Not Ivona’s real name.’

  ‘It’s enough. It’s a bloody mess, Dougie.’

  ‘We’ll never get hold of her now though.’

  ‘They’ll have to let her go someday. Unless they charge her with Kent’s murder, of course. Now there’s an idea.’

  ‘Nice try, Malc.’

  ‘Wish I did know who killed him though, he’s dropped us right in it. Keep me posted. Knight will keep going forever, but as I say they’ll have to let Zukic go before long. Keep sniffing around.’

  ‘But how? I’ve no idea about any safe houses.’

  ‘You must know the right ears to have a few words in? I’ll talk to a few people as well.’

  ‘We still won’t be able to just walk in and get her.’

  ‘No, but we can keep an eye on the place and follow when she does come out. I’m not letting this one lie, Dougie.’

  ‘I understand that.’

  ‘And you better not let that lad of yours anywhere near. I’ll send Paul up for a while, he can keep an eye on Richie, teach him a few tricks. If he’s capable of learning, that is.’

Dougie bit his lip but Malc had ended the call anyway.
Bloody hell, not Paul
Dougie thought. Arrogant and big mouthed, his cousin’s son was not a person he wanted on his turf. It seemed though, as usual, that he had no choice.