Scream, You Die (19 page)

Talk in the major incident briefing room died down as DCI Diane Harris strolled to the front of the room. There was a bounce in her step and she looked remarkably refreshed given that she had been working over twelve hours. She wore a dark-blue knee-length skirt and matching jacket with a white cotton blouse. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, though a few strands at the front had worked themselves loose, dangling over her ears. She made an attempt at brushing them back as she faced her team.

On screen behind her appeared the front cover of a Lithuanian passport, together with the passport’s polycarbonated personal data page, which portrayed a tanned, curly-haired young man.

“Our escaped suspect,” she announced, flicking her head backwards. “Twenty-three-year-old Andrius Machuta, and as you can see from his passport, like all our victims, he’s from Lithuania. Finding this at the house has been our first bit of good luck in this enquiry and has moved things up significantly. We’ve already faxed this to Interpol, and although we have his passport we’ve now put out an all-ports warning, should he try and get another one and attempt to leave the country. We’ve also circulated his details and his photograph. Once we put out his photo across the media the pressure will be on him.” Pausing and issuing a smile she continued, “Forensics finished with the house in Wandsworth today and I’m told there is an abundance of material to process, including blood and other trace evidence, as well as fibres and literary dozens of fingerprints, which is not surprising given what the house has been used for. Neighbours have confirmed it is a brothel. A number of complaints have apparently been made to the local council about it, and one neighbour has been keeping the car numbers of all visitors, so we have lots to be getting on with. Some of those actions will be prioritised. As to the owners of that house, however, I’m afraid we have drawn a blank. It was bought in cash eighteen months ago through a foreign company based in the Cayman Islands. That company has issued shares which are held in Dubai, so we’ve no means of finding out who is behind the company.” Her mouth tightened. “The people behind this are no amateurs, and until we get hold of our suspect we are stuck with not being able to find out who is behind this. What I have no doubts about is that what we have uncovered here is a prostitution ring involving illegal immigrants and that the people behind it are ruthless.” She let what she had said sink in. “The only other thing of any note is with regards to the black four-by-four. The policewoman at Putney who was dealing with a hit-and-run RTC involving a black Audi Q7 has e-mailed us with details of the incident.” She glanced at some notes she had made. “The accident happened around four-fifty p.m. on the evening of the day before our first victim, the headless body in the suitcase, was found. Apparently the black four-by-four ran into the back of a builder’s van in heavy traffic on the A316.” She raised her eyes and checked a few faces and added slowly, “The location is less than a mile from the house in Wandsworth.” She held their looks for a few seconds before continuing, “The van driver was already stopped in traffic so he jumped out to view the damage and speak with the driver. As he approached the Audi, he says the driver was having some sort of fight with a young girl. The driver was leaning over the back of his seat and had hold of the girl by her hair. He got the impression that she was trying to get away and he was punching her in the head.” Diane Harris glanced up from her notes. She still held everyone’s attention. She continued, “The van driver banged on the window and the Audi driver shouted back at him to ‘fuck off’. He shouted back that he was going to call for the police and at that the Audi driver started the car and drove away. The van driver had to jump out of the way or he’d have been run over. Although he didn’t get a good look at him he has given us a basic description of the Audi driver and he also got the registration number. He describes the driver as being white with a shaven head and overweight. The number checks out as belonging to a black Audi Q7, but the last registered keeper notified DVLA nine months ago that he had sold it. We’ve contacted that owner this afternoon and he’s told us that he sold the car for cash to a shaven-headed overweight man who he believed was foreign. We pushed on the foreign bit but all he was able to say is that he believed the man to be Eastern European. We’ve arranged to get e-fits done tomorrow with both these witnesses.” She broke off, eyeing the room, and folded her note. Then she said, “With regards the description of the girl, unfortunately the van driver hasn’t been able to give us much at all. Just about as basic as before. All we have is that he got the impression that the girl was an older teenager, probably eighteen or nineteen, and that she was white, slim build, with longish brown hair. He thought she was wearing a silver-coloured vest-type top. That’s it, I’m afraid.” She finished off her briefing with a round-robin of her team. Detectives fed back on their assignments but there was nothing of significance. She gave a quick clap and said, “Okay, that’s it for today. Tomorrow it’s the actions I’ve already mentioned, plus I want someone to liaise with ANPR and feed in the reg number of the Audi, see if we can get a hit and, fingers crossed, the image will be good enough to pick the driver. And we finish off house-to-house in Battersea and Wandsworth.” As the team rose from their seats Diane Harris pulled away the elastic from her ponytail and shook out her hair. Feeding the freed tresses through her fingers she eased back her neck. She could feel the tension between her shoulder blades. It had been another long day and she could feel the tiredness creeping up. She was ready for home.

Skender turned off the steaming shower, dragged his towel off the hook and smoothing a hand over his recently shaved scalp he swiped away clinging water droplets before vigorously towelling his upper body. Stepping out into the drying area he began slowly strolling towards the locker room. After a few yards, checking he was the only one in the changing room, he stopped at the full-length mirror and looked, flexing his pumped-up chest and arms. He always felt tight following a weights session and liked to check his pose before finally drying himself.

The muted sound of his ringtone coming from inside his locker interrupted him. He hoped it was the call he’d been waiting for. Quickly wrapping his towel around his waist and knotting it, he hurried to where he had dumped his sweaty gym clothes before jumping into the shower. Picking out his jogging bottoms, he removed his locker key from the pocket and unlocked the metal cabinet. His mobile was still ringing. He checked the listed caller before answering; it was who he had been expecting, though the name listed wasn’t his real name.

He answered, “I hope you’re going to give me good news?

He listened to the man on the other end. When he had finished he said steadily, “Good. You let me know the minute he’s found. You make sure I get the first call before you go and get him. Understand?”

The man spoke some more. Then Skender answered, “Listen, I don’t give a fuck. I need to get to him first. If he is caught he can do us a lot of damage, including you.” He let his last sentence hit home and then followed up with, “You give me that call. That’s what I pay you for – to sort out problems. So sort it out.” Then on a menacing note he added, “You’d better not let me down.”

He ended the call and stared at the mirror. His reflection had a hardened, granite look.

Alex leaned forward in the driving seat of his car and cleared the misted windscreen with the back of his gloved hand. He gazed out through the smudge he had made.

“How’s the investigation going? I see on the news you’ve named a chief suspect.”

Scarlett wiped her own side of the windscreen, clearing her view of Kensington Place, where they had parked up half an hour earlier. Keeping her eyes fixed on the road outside she replied, “We had to do that. We know nothing about this Andrius. He’s well and truly gone to ground since his escape. We have no idea who his friends or associates are and to be honest we’re also struggling to track down anyone connected with the house in Wandsworth. It’s as if everyone has disappeared into a big black hole.

“What about the owner?”

“That’s another problem. The place is registered to a company in the Cayman Islands. No way of tracking them down.”

“Sounds like a real tangled web.”

“The whole investigation is tangled. Three dead bodies! We still haven’t managed to identify the first victim. We believe she’s Lithuanian, only because the other two are and of course the suspect.”

“It’ll come good in the end. It always does. Just a bit of patience and a bit of luck.”

Scarlett sighed. “Hope so.”

“A bit like this job.”

Scarlett pulled her eyes away from the road. “I’m hoping we can end this tonight.” She held a sideways view of Alex. He had his gaze fixed beyond the windscreen. “We’ve chased around enough now. I’ve got my fingers crossed she’s here.”

The windscreen was starting to mist up again. He gave it another wipe. “That’s if it is Rose we’ve been following.”

“It is Rose, I’m telling you. I know it’s been over ten years since I last saw her, but that look she gave me on the Underground. She recognised me and I recognised her.”

“Well, we’ll soon see won’t we?” He reached for the door handle, “Are you good to go then? If we stay here much longer, someone is going to clock us and report us. Or worse still, one of that lot susses us.” He motioned his head towards the block of maisonettes. “Then we will have blown it.”

“That’s the last thing I need.”

“To be honest, Scarlett, we have to do this tonight. My council contact tells me they’ve got a court order for this place. The bailiffs’ll be here either tomorrow or the day after to evict them.”

Scarlett lifted her bag out from the footwell, delved into it and pulled out the A5 colour photograph she had secreted there before leaving work yesterday. She sprang her door, triggering the interior light.

Alex snapped into action and deftly turned it off.

Scarlett screwed up her face and mouthed, “Sorry.”

He dipped his head at the photo. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

“It should give us a foot in the door.” She pushed the passenger door wider and swung out her legs. “Come on, partner. If anyone asks, you’re a detective.”

He sprang his own door. “Do I get a badge?”

****

Scarlett and Alex made their way up the stone stairwell as quietly as possible to the fourth floor, where they stepped out onto the balcony.

“It’s the third flat along,” said Alex, nodding the way ahead. “Look: you can see the flag hanging out of the window.”

Scarlett tiptoed ahead. Yards from the flat door, she saw clearly the black-and-white anarchist flag Alex had mentioned, hanging from the opened top light. She also picked up the sounds of a couple of guitars being strummed and several people singing, coming from inside the flat. She didn’t recognise the song. It sounded like some folk ballad. With a brief look Scarlett checked Alex was okay. He returned a nod and she banged loudly on the flat door.

The music and singing stopped. For a good ten seconds there was silence, then a male voice shouted, “Who is it?”

It made Scarlett jump. Composing herself, she replied, “Police.”

There was another long pause. Scarlett picked out the sounds of scuffling.

Alex broke into a smile. He whispered, “Probably getting rid of the gear!”

After a few more seconds the man shouted from behind the door, “What do you want, man?”

“To talk to you,” Scarlett replied.

“What about?”

“A missing girl.”

There was another pause and then a female voice piped up. “What missing girl? What’s her name?”

Scarlett said, “Look, just open the door so I can talk. This is not a bust. We’ve got a fifteen-year-old girl who’s been reported missing and someone has told us she could be here. I just want to check that out.”

“There’s no fifteen-year-old girl here,” the woman’s voice replied. “There’s no one that young with us.”

“Look, just open the door, will you? I need to do a quick check and then I’m gone. As I say, this is no bust and I’m not here to turn you out. I just want to check things out.”

Scarlett could hear soft voices exchanging with one another behind the door. A couple more voices had joined the man and woman in the hall. She couldn’t make out what was being said. Then she heard the sound of things being dragged and scraped back, and a chain and bolt being released before the door finally opened. A thin, straggly haired man in a green combat jacket appeared. He held on firmly to the door. Scarlett recognised him as the man she and Alex had followed over a week ago. She watched him scrutinising her. Seeing his face take on a puzzled look she shied away her head. She knew he was racking his brains trying to work out where it was he had seen her, so she quickly flashed her warrant card, pocketed it and blocking his view of her face she held up the A5 photograph she had brought from work. It was a photo of a blonde-haired teenage girl. Yesterday afternoon she had furtively removed it from a missing-from-home file Uniform were dealing with back at the station.

“This is who we’re looking for. Her name’s Rachel.”

He studied the photo. “Never seen her. I’m telling you man, she’s not here.”

“Do you mind if me and my colleague just check? Just to satisfy ourselves, so we can tell our boss.”

The sentry turned around to face a man and two women standing a couple of yards behind him in the hallway. Scarlett watched them all exchanging glances. He turned back to face her and on a raised note said, “We’ve no one with that name staying here. I’m telling you she’s not here. Now, will you kindly go?”

Scarlett hardened her look. “Look, my friend, we can do this the easy or the hard way. The easy way is we come in do a quick check of the place, satisfy ourselves she’s not here and leave. The hard way is I now get on my phone and call up a dozen of my colleagues and we give this place a turning over. I’m pretty sure we’ll find some gear here and then we bust the whole lot of you for possession and you spend an uncomfortable night in the cells. Now, which is it to be?”

He loosened his grip of the door. “And that’s all you’re here for?”

Scarlett waved the photograph. “Honest. We just want to make sure she’s not hiding out here and then, once we’re satisfied, we’re on our way. That’s the last you’ll see of us. Do you think if this was a bust only the two of us would show up?”

The man turned back again and flashed the others an acquiescent look and then stepped back, opening up the gap.

Scarlett stepped into the hallway with Alex tightly behind her. Her stomach fluttered nervously as she brushed past the doorman. As he closed the door she saw an old armchair and two long wooden buttresses leaning against the wall – the items she had heard being dragged away before the door was opened.

In the room at the end of the hallway a light was blazing. Following the man they passed a bare staircase leading to the rooms above. He led Scarlett and Alex into a large square room occupied by a ragtag-looking bunch comprising seven men and three women. She knew from what Alex had told her that the squatters were a bunch of musicians and street artists. Not the types to be confrontational, but nevertheless they outnumbered her and Alex four to one and she slipped a hand into her coat pocket, wrapping her fingers around her police-issue incapacitant spray.

The group were lounging around the room on sleeping bags and old mattresses. Rucksacks spewing out their contents were dotted around, giving the place an untidy look. It stunk of cannabis, though there was none in sight. A window was open at the far end; Scarlett remembered what Alex had said earlier and could guess where the spliffs had gone. Looking around the room, Scarlett checked the faces again, though she hadn’t spotted Rose when she’d entered. The expression on the face of the man who had answered the door had changed.

Scarlett knew that look.

Racketing his head between her and Alex he arrowed a finger. On a raised note he said, “I know you two. You’re the guys who chased me and Rose on the Underground.”

At that moment, behind her, Scarlett picked up the sound of clomping feet on bare boards; someone was rushing down the stairs. She spun around just in time to catch a glimpse of a flaxen-haired girl in jeans and a parka making for the door. She shouted for her stop. The girl reached the handle, turned it rapidly, flung the door open and was out through the entrance even before Scarlett had made a step.

“Alex, she’s getting away!” Scarlett yelled and set off after her. By the time she’d reached the outside walkway the girl was fleeing into the stairwell. She screamed “Stop!” but it drew no reaction as the girl disappeared down the stairs.

Fuck!

Haring after her, Scarlett dashed into the stairwell, saw the girl two flights below and leapt after her, taking the stairs two at a time. By the time the girl had reached the bottom Scarlett had made ground and was only one flight behind.

At the bottom of the stairs the girl flung out a hand and straight-armed the entrance door, half bursting, half falling out onto the footpath. Scarlett followed.

Spinning away left, the girl raced towards the main road. Scarlett was only yards behind now and screamed at the top of her voice, “Rose, for Christ’s sake, stop!”

Her cry brought about a response.