Читать книгу: «Broken Silence»

Dedication –

To Baroness Lola Young and Kevin Hyland for opening my eyes to Modern-Day Slavery … but mostly for all those victims of this appalling abuse of human rights.

‘Once you know, you can’t claim ignorance’ Baroness Lola Young

Prologue

February 2019

A sharp rat-a-tat-tat somewhere near his head shattered his reassurance. Someone was out there banging on the side of the bin. Stefan held his breath and his body stiffened. Maybe it was one of the workers out for a smoke. He strained his ears. He couldn’t hear anything else – no dogs, no voices. Maybe whoever it was had gone.

Then it came – a coarse singsong whisper penetrating the plastic bin – taunting and at the same time chilling him. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are.’

This was followed by ferocious yelping and Stefan knew the game was up. The lid was thrown back and a bright torch shone into the inside. In a last-ditch attempt, Stefan remained still and silent, but it was no good. Whoever shone the torch followed that by pushing a long prod through the layers of cardboard. When it connected with his body, Stefan braced himself not to react, then the electric current from the Taser had him yelping in pain as his entire body shook for a moment and then became numb. Seconds later, two of Bullet’s henchmen dragged him from the bin and flung him in a heap on the wet ground. The dogs, salivating and over-excited, pranced and jumped close to him, taking the odd nipping bite before they were yanked back by their owners.

‘Oh dear. This makes me very sad, you know. It also makes my boss very sad.’ Bullet tilted his head to one side and laughed. ‘Actually, it doesn’t make him sad so much as angry.’

He waved his phone in the air. ‘He told me to hit you where it hurts and boy, am I going to enjoy doing that.’

SUNDAY 15TH MARCH 2020

Chapter 1

DS Felicity Springer couldn’t wait to get home. She’d thrown her stuff into her case, and walked, red-faced, past her colleagues who lingered in the hallway making plans to extend the weekend. She exited the hotel on her walk of shame. It didn’t matter that no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to her – she had a vague recollection of what had happened, and she felt dirty. Why had this happened? She had Stevie after all – how could she have allowed herself to get so drunk … so out of control?

Straightening her spine, she dragged her trolley case over to her car, blinked back her tears – she didn’t do tears – shoved her luggage in the boot of her Kia Sportage and got in, just as it began to snow. Hidden from view, she rested her head on the steering wheel, wishing she could clear her brain; that the pounding at her temple would go. She wasn’t even sure she should be driving. Maybe she was still over the limit but there was no way she could remain for the rest of the conference.

She’d had an awful time anyway, feeling totally out of her depth at the multi-agency ‘Making Bradford Safe’ conference. It had been billed as a way of working together to get the drugs, the weapons and the gangs off the streets. The first step in flushing out any of those businesses who were employing trafficked immigrants. It smacked of lip service to Springer, because she knew fine and well there wasn’t enough in the coffers to finance their grandiose ideas. Still, it was worth it to get different agencies together … share ideas, break down barriers. On a personal level though, Springer was pissed off. Nobody, not even the bosses from her own agency, had given her contributions credence. It was all crap, crap and more damn crap. Perhaps that’s why she went off the rails, but that was just making excuses and no excuse could ever be good enough for what she had done. As she’d walked through the hallway, she had felt like she had the word SLUT tattooed across her forehead and she reckoned that by the time she walked through the front door to Stevie, SLUT would have morphed into CHEATER.

Her head pounded – just how much did I have to drink? Last night was a blur. She’d had wine with her evening meal, but she thought she’d only had a glass. Afterwards she’d forced herself to go to the disco and she vaguely remembered dancing – really? Felicity rarely danced. How much did I really drink? Surely not enough to account for that one very big mistake. The sort of mistake she was going to feel guilty about for a long time to come. She had someone at home who cared for her. So, why had she risked that for a sleazy fumble with a lecherous loser? He was always a bit of a dick, so she couldn’t quite make sense of how the hell she had ended up in bed beside him. She remembered vaguely chatting to him, and she’d ended up in his room … in his bed, so …

Thing was, she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure what had gone on. She barely remembered the post-conference party. It was all a blur of blaring music, flashing lights, gyrating bodies and loud laughter. Snapshots of it came back to her; laughter, drinking, chanting, ‘down it, down it, down it’, but none of it was in sequence. As for after the party … in the hotel room … well, that wasn’t clear either. She laughed humourlessly. So much for the session on monitoring binge-drinking in the Bradford district!

Her phone rang, and looking at the screen, she groaned. Feeling like a bitch, she let it go to voicemail. She couldn’t face speaking to Stevie. How was she supposed to act like everything was okay when she’d betrayed the person she loved?

A wave of nausea overtook her. She took slow, deep breaths to control it, then rummaged in the glove compartment for a bottle of water. After only a few sips, her stomach heaved, and she barely got the car door open before vomiting, the warmth of her puke melting the already layered snow. Aware of a speckle of sweat across her upper lip, Felicity took another glug of water, gargled and spat it out before grabbing a tissue and wiping her mouth. Shit, I feel rough.

All fingers and thumbs, she leaned back against the headrest, snuggled deeper into her winter coat, soothed by its softness and, eyes closed, played the voicemail. ‘Hi, you. Hungover, are we? Never mind, I’ve got lunch on the go. Let me know when you’ll be home and I’ll have hot chocolate and a hot bath ready for you. Might join you in the bath if you’re lucky. Love you.’

Dropping the phone into her lap, Felicity looked out the window, only vaguely aware of other cars leaving the hotel car park, and tried to think back to that morning. She’d awakened, disorientated and naked in his bed. A trail of clothes round the room, his leering face beside her, the strange taste in her mouth, the throb down below … all of it told the story, yet … even now, she couldn’t remember a sodding thing about it and she’d been too embarrassed to ask, too ashamed to admit she’d been so pissed she couldn’t remember and too humiliated by his leering grin and the casual smack on the ass as she crawled out of the bed. This was the perfect clichéd situation … Important male figurehead beds needy underling. Needy underling regrets it and we all know who’s the butt of all the jokes!

She didn’t know how long she had sat there, but the snow changed from relentless splatters to thicker, heavier flakes obliterating her windscreen and casting a deathly tomb-like glow inside her car. She shuddered, realizing how cold she’d got and gave herself a shake. Come on Fliss, you’ve got to put this behind you and get yourself home.

Hands trembling, she tried to insert her key in the ignition, dropped it and flinched as a sharp pain went through her body when she bent over to scrabble for it on the floor. Eventually, she grabbed it and, managing to start up the engine, she set the wipers in motion, appalled to see just how heavy the snow was. Peering through the heavy flakes, she saw that the roofs of the few remaining cars were layered with a couple of inches of snow and the treads of the last cars to leave were being rapidly covered by the blizzard. Shit! Shit! Shit! Last thing she needed was to drive home in these conditions with a pounding hangover. The thought of waiting for a taxi and then having to return the next day to retrieve her car was too much for her. Resigned, she engaged the clutch, eased the vehicle from the parking space and headed for home.

Despite her aching head, Felicity found the heavy silence of her own disordered thoughts too disturbing, so she switched on the radio. But it was some cheesy love song by a boyband she had no desire to listen to. She turned it off. She’d rather deal with her own thoughts than this crap. Hands trembling, she wondered if she should be driving, especially as the wet snow was getting heavier and her wipers were going nineteen to the dozen.

Swinging off the roundabout, instead of taking the Bradford dual carriageway exit, she opted for the back road … less traffic, less likely to get stopped. And boy, did she want to avoid getting pulled over. Thoughts of yet another reason not to drag herself to work the next day made her slow right down and lean forward to peer out the window. Overcast clouds made everything grey and she flipped her lights on and continued at her sedate pace until a transit truck overtook her sending up a backwash of mucky slush over her windscreen, momentarily obscuring her vision. Ass!

But within seconds her annoyance turned to relief as she realized that having a bigger vehicle in front of her ploughing through the slush that was gathering on the road, was a godsend. She could follow the van’s tracks and it gave her something to focus on. Increasing her speed a little, she glided along just behind the van.

Wipers on full blast, she peered through the grey until something caught her eye. What the hell is that? The van’s light had popped out and now something was dangling from the hole. Wishing the wipers would speed up, Felicity, headache momentarily forgotten, leaned forward and pressed a little harder on the accelerator.

A hand? Bloody snow. Could it really be a hand? How the hell could a hand be waving it her from the space where the light now dangled?

Then there it was – not just a hand but an entire arm … protruding from the rear light casing, the light dangling on a wire. What the hell was going on? It was like something from a cheesy American car chase movie, or a serial killer movie. Was someone captive in that van or was it some sort of practical joke?

Uncertain what to do, Felicity increased her speed till she was closer to the van in front, mulling through her options as she drove. It couldn’t be a joke. Course not. Why would someone stage a prank like that when the only car around was hers? So, if it wasn’t a joke, then it must be someone’s desperate cry for help. A last resort to attract attention. Whoever the hand belonged to wasn’t doing this for fun, they were desperate.

For the first time, Felicity regretted her decision to take the back roads and follow the van. If whoever was driving it was keeping someone inside against their will, then they must be dangerous. She glanced in her rear-view mirror, praying for the telltale signs of car lights behind her – there were none and she realized that, as she’d driven, the road was getting narrower. Normally she was reasonably familiar with this area, but the darkness and her preoccupied state made her unsure where exactly she was on her route. Then it struck her. Stevie had installed the What3words geocoding app on both their phones telling her it might come in handy someday. Of course, Felicity had scoffed. She had a satnav, who needed a stupid app? Now she was glad of it. She hadn’t put on her satnav and it would take too long to bring it up. She quickly pressed the app and got the three words she needed.

Grabbing her phone from her lap, she dialled 999 and switched to speakerphone.

‘What’s your emergency?’

‘Police. Don’t have time for all the crap. Find my location using these words Buttercup, Red, Triangle. There’s something weird going on in the vehicle in front of me. I suspect an abduction.’

‘Could I take your name …?’

But the van had sped up and was turning off. Felicity threw her phone on the passenger seat and raised her voice so the despatcher could still hear her. ‘I’m following it. A white van. Don’t know what the road’s called but get someone here ASAP. I’ll keep my phone open. I’m a police officer. Get someone here pronto.’

Letting herself lag a little behind the vehicle, whilst still keeping it in her sights, Felicity followed. The hand was still waving about from the rear light. Then it disappeared. A moment later it was back, throwing stuff out the opening, waving. Frantic. The van sped up, and Felicity suspected the driver was aware of what their captive was doing and that they were being followed.

Nausea filled Felicity’s throat, but she swallowed it back. The road was now a track … a bumpy track and it wasn’t helping the sickly feeling. The snow was getting ever heavier, big flakes masking her vision, and Felicity was scared she was going to skid. Who knew if that stupid app worked or if anyone would be able to triangulate her phone data to secure her whereabouts from here? Maybe this had been a bad decision. Pulling herself forward, she peered through the windscreen and, as a darting shadow dived in front of her, she slammed her foot on the brakes. Her phone skittered across the seat and into the footwell as the car careered to the right. The shadow – what looked like a baby deer – disappeared into the foliage to the left. Felicity, heart hammering, wrenched the steering wheel and eased her foot off the brake. With the car in front gaining distance, her car slowly righted itself. She raised her voice, hoping her phone was still connected and would still pick up her voice. ‘We’re on a side road now. Terrain crap, road bumpy. Visibility is poor and the reg number is obscured. The vehicle is speeding up.’

She’d no idea if the responder on the other end of the phone could still hear her, but she kept up her chatter. ‘Just passed a farmhouse … Appletree Farm … series of wind turbines in a field to the right of it.’

The tinny voice from the phone told her the despatcher was speaking and she swallowed, blinking away the tears that sprung to her eyes when she realized that she wasn’t completely alone. Even though the phone was on loudspeaker, the despatcher’s words were distant. The van she was following was about fifty feet ahead of her. She took her eye off it for a second … and reached down, her fingers scrabbling across the carpeted floor. She glanced up, righted the wheel, eased off the accelerator and stretched a little deeper. If she could just find the damn phone, she’d be sure the phone operative could hear her.

Crash!

The judder and bang as she rear-ended the van, propelled her forward and, just as quickly, back when the airbag deployed.

Pinned back against her seat by the weight of the airbag, vision obscured, she blinked. What the hell? She began to push the airbag down, ignoring her breathlessness, just wanting to get out of the vehicle but before she had the chance to move, the door was yanked open and a figure in a balaclava thrust a gun into her car. Felicity looked up at the man, her eyes wide in terror. ‘Please … don’t …’

Bang!

‘Hello … hello? Are you still there …?’ The despatcher’s voice faded.

Chapter 2

Headlights pierced the early morning dark, as the van pulled up outside Bradford Halal Chicken Factory. The men who were bundled on the floor in the back, got to their feet before the doors were yanked open and they were berated by the big hulking bloke the other men called Bullet. Their eyes adjusting to the dawn light and shivering, they stumbled out onto the frosty ground. After being locked up in the dark for the duration of the journey, it was a relief for Stefan Marcovici when the doors opened. The smell of unwashed bodies combined with their cramped positions always panicked him a bit. What if they crashed and the van exploded? What if one day their captors just parked up and didn’t bother to open the doors for them?

The factory lights were on, but they were the first workers to arrive and the car park was empty bar their transport and another car that probably belonged to the night watchman. It was parked next to the huge waste containers that stood next to the roll-down warehouse doors attached to the factory. As they passed Bullet, he pushed each of them, a stupid grin on his face. They trudged on to the next man. Huddled in a huge coat, woollen beanie on his head and a fed-up weed-glazed look on his face, he handed them their lunch: a single paper-thin sandwich with a disgusting paste filling, that clagged up your mouth.

Each day, he arrived at the halal chicken factory, put on white overalls, a plastic apron, hairnet, mask, gloves and wellies and for hour after interminable hour he stood, freezing his balls off, by whatever machine they directed him to, dealing with the cold chicken corpses that moved past him on a conveyor-belt of death. All around him, the machines clanked and jolted, the men chatted and the radio played songs about love and sex, none of which held any importance for him in his current situation.

Over the months Stefan had grown immune to the putrid stench of blood clogging up his nostrils. It had become routine, just part of his day. A huge part of it. A necessary part of it. The section between getting up and going back home to bed. The bit he could measure. The squish of innards and entrails between his gloved fingers, the sound of cartilage and bone cracking beneath his cleaver and the persistent buzz of the fly catcher that hung from the ceiling above him, as he worked, were all just scene setting. Part of the cadence of his daily life.

Some of the men worked shorter shifts than he and his fellow captives – coming in later and leaving earlier. About two hours before the end of his shift, Stefan watched, heavy-hearted and envious, as they left of their own accord with a friendly wave and banter, whilst he and the other faceless people slogged in silence. Sometimes he wondered if it was just one great long nightmare. Months earlier he’d been full of hope, making plans for a future where his entire family joined him and his daughter. A new start away from the threat of the gang he’d betrayed back in Romania. When they’d taken him and Maria to a bank and helped them sign up for an account, he’d been sure everything was legitimate, all above board. Sure, he’d be able to manage his money, pay off his debt to those who’d helped him escape and build a life, but the bastards had confiscated his card and insisted he still had a huge debt to pay off.

Throwing a pile of chicken guts into the plastic waste tubs behind him and wishing it was a brick hitting Bullet’s head, he went through his strategy. For days now he’d been thinking about this and now the day had come, he wanted to make sure everything went to plan. The trigger had been when he’d heard the advert on the radio. At first, he hadn’t understood it. Wondered what it was about. Then, he heard it again and it began to dawn on him. The advert was about people like him and the other men. People kept against their will, unable to escape. People like his daughter being forced to do God knows what.

His captors had told them that nobody cared about the likes of them, but that wasn’t true. The police were advertising it on the radio. They were asking people to contact them. They would help. So, Stefan memorized the number. All he had to do was tell someone what was happening. At first, he’d thought he’d tell one of the other men – the ones who were free to come and go, but he decided against that. They must know what was going on. They just turned a blind eye. Probably glad it wasn’t them. So that wouldn’t work. The more time that passed, the weaker he got, the more poorly some of the other men became, and this fuelled his determination to escape. To escape and to find Maria.

Finally, he realized the easiest way to break free was from the factory. They weren’t watched all the time here. Bullet and his thugs came and went, but there were times during the day when the only supervisors were the factory ones and they didn’t seem quite as threatening. He’d observed the direction the other men’s cars took when they left the car park and reckoned he’d reach civilization at some point if he just got out, turned left and kept on running.

Stefan waited, nervous and scared. This could all go badly wrong, but it might be his only chance. Eventually he sloped off to the loading area by way of the toilets. Creeping slowly forward, he craned his head to either side. He could see two of the big truck drivers off to one side, smoking and chatting. If he sidled out and used their truck for cover, he could get outside. Quick as a flash, he nipped back into the toilets, stripped off the white protective covering that would draw attention on the street, shoved it onto a bin and retraced his steps to the loading bay. The men were still laughing and smoking – looking at something on their phones. Heart pounding, he took a deep breath and darted over to the truck before edging forward. He listened, but all he could hear was the regular sounds of the factory machines and the occasional shout from the men. Taking his chance, he darted to the side, using the factory wall as cover and sidled over to the bushes that lined the edge of the car park. Crouching behind them, he made his way to the main road and then took to his heels running as fast as he could along a pavement lined with car parks assigned to other huge factory buildings. He was in an industrial estate. He accelerated, the cold air catching in his chest, but adrenaline made him fly. He followed the road round and saw a main street. There was a bus stop a few yards ahead and he wished he’d had the foresight to steal some money. He kept moving past it. The scent of freedom beckoning, making him smile.

Chapter 3

DS Nikita Parekh, shoulders hunched against the driving sleet, bounced on the balls of her feet as she waited in the no man’s land between the outer and inner cordons of the crime scene. Concentrating, she watched the CSIs processed the scene. The weather made it imperative that they work with speed and so they’d quickly banished any unnecessary personnel from the inner cordon and this included Nikki and her team. Not used to standing about, Nikki, Tyvek suit over her leather jacket, crime scene bootees over her boots, was doing her best to absorb what she could see of the crime scene.

The CSIs had already set up spotlights, but under orders from Gracie Fells, the head CSI, in order to make sure the heat they generated didn’t compromise the crime scene, the lights had been placed at the very edge of the cordon. This lack of direct light made picking up on the details a little more difficult for Nikki. The CSIs – amorphous gender-neutral figures in their white bulky suits – held torches as they worked. The car, a red Kia Sportage, was slewed halfway across the narrow road, its front end squashed, the driver’s door hanging open to reveal the empty seat. Not so classy now. Blood had turned the slush a rusty colour and as she watched, the CSIs were frantically trying to gather evidence as they took photos and scooped up spattered matter.

Other figures focused on the tracks that were beyond the Kia. The vehicle the car had crashed into was absent, and harvesting track marks and footprints was a race against the elements. Nikki itched to get in there and make her own analysis, talk to the CSIs, get a real feel for the scene. Already the memory of the resigned but annoyed atmosphere that had descended on her family, when she’d grabbed her jacket and headed for the door, was fading – almost, but not quite. It was a year since her daughter had been abducted and she and her partner Marcus had nearly lost their lives; still, every time she was called away from a family gathering, the memory of that horrific time was triggered for all of them. But this is my job! Her justification didn’t always sit too well with her family, but they had to be aware that she’d been trying her best. Charlie knew first-hand how important her job was … didn’t she? Trying really hard to be more present in their lives, more giving of her time … that, she decided, just had to make up for her dashing off halfway through the Sunday dinner that Marcus had so painstakingly cooked. But as the guilt soaked in, she realized that was just part and parcel of having to balance two sets of responsibilities.

Resolutely, she pulled her thoughts away from the kids’ disappointed and slightly worried faces and back to the scene before her. The presence of blood with the absence of a body combined with the car owner’s frantic call to emergency services was chilling. What the hell had she seen? A hand through the back light of the vehicle in front? One that she was unable to give a registration number for. One that she had only described as a white van. Nikki hoped the CSIs could work their magic on the rapidly melting slush … CCTV was non-existent in these back roads and besides, they meandered for miles, criss-crossing other roads and back roads. Who knew when the reported van would hit mainstream roads again, if ever? There were so many snickets, hidden roads and premises around this area, the van could be holed up in any number of locations waiting for them to divert their searches elsewhere. Their only other option would be a police appeal for a white vehicle, but with the lack of a better description, they’d be inundated with a raft of pointless sightings. What made it worse was that Nikki was acquainted with the woman who’d made the phone call … It had become personal for West Yorkshire police and, whether she could stand the woman herself didn’t matter, she was one of theirs and that counted for something. Cupping her cold fingers round her mouth, Nikki blew into them, trying to ease the numbness in her joints and simultaneously stamped from foot to foot. Springer had made her life hell for a while the previous year, but that didn’t stop Nikki feeling sorry for her now. Springer had clearly been taken by whoever was in the van she’d been pursuing and who knew what state she’d be in. Nikki wasn’t used to standing idle at a crime scene and her patience was wearing thin. The sooner they got a look at the scene the sooner they could crack on with finding Springer.

The weight of a hefty elbow nudging her as she watched, had Nikki spinning round, arms already up to shove back when she realized it was her DC, Sajid Malik. ‘For goodness’ sake, Saj. What the hell are you playing at?’

Beyond him, in the lane, Nikki could see he’d parked up his Jag, but had had the good sense to turn it round so it was facing back the way they’d come. The crime scene had prevented through traffic in order to preserve any evidence left by the departing van and as more and more officers came to the scene, the chances of Nikki being able to spin her old Zafira round was getting slimmer. Sajid carried a Tyvek suit, which he was shaking out, ready to put on. He grinned at her and Nikki’s scowl deepened. Of course, he’d had the sense to wear a winter coat and … was that a bloody polo neck? A shiver ran through her. She almost wished she could rip the damn jumper off him and put it on. As the thought crossed her mind, her fingers lifted to the rough scar on her neck and she shuddered. The last thing she would do was wear a polo. Too damn suffocating; a scarf, even loosely draped was bad enough but the very idea of her neck being enclosed was claustrophobic. Her own Tyvek suit offered little warmth in addition to her leather jacket and she had the distinct feeling of dampness in her socks – had her DMs finally given up the ghost and developed a hole in the sole? Just what she needed right now when the leak in her car still wasn’t sorted. ‘Wish they’d hurry up. I need to get in there.’

Ignoring her tetchy tone, Sajid pulled his suit up over his jeans, tucked his – probably cashmere – coat in and inserted his arms in the sleeve. ‘Heard it’s Springer.’

Nikki nodded. ‘Yep. The call came in from Springer. Seems like she was on her way back from that Community Liaison Conference in Wakefield and took a detour to avoid traffic …’

Sajid moved closer to the demarcation tape, eyes scanning the scene. ‘That blood by the driver’s door’s a bit ominous.’

‘You don’t say.’ Nikki’s tone was snippy. Saj was only articulating what she’d been thinking, but it irked her. She was cold, pissed off and eager to get on. ‘Blood, yes, but the fact that she’s been removed from the scene might be a good thing. The fact they’ve taken her might mean she’s still alive.’ Well, that’s what Nikki hoped anyway.

‘What do you make of her saying she saw a hand and then an arm sticking out from the taillight?’

‘Don’t know … but the fact that she’s been lifted makes that seem even more ominous.’ Wrapping her arms round her upper body, Nikki focused her gaze on the scene, ignoring the glance Saj sent in her direction. There was no love lost between her and The Spaniel, but that wouldn’t stop her doing her best to find her.

A commotion near the outer cordon had both her and Saj spinning round.

Voice low, Saj exhaled. ‘Shit, it must be bad if Archie’s here.’

Nikki moved forward to meet her boss. DCI Archie Hegley was a large man, with a brusque Scottish tone and right now, his bulbous face was bright red and his breath came in quick pants sending off little puffs of vapour as he thudded over. ‘Parekh, this is a bloody mind fuck. Right got ma proverbials in a lather, this has. Now, I ken you dinnae get on with Springer, but you need to put that behind you. We’ve got to find her … find out what the hell is going on.’

Oh yeah … I’m just supposed to forget that she accused me of killing my husband, as if all she did was swipe a sweet from me. She snorted but on seeing Archie’s glare, tried to turn it into a cough. ‘Yes, sir. Course, sir’.

She lowered her head. She’d heard the tape of Springer’s call to the emergency switchboard and although she disliked the woman, she could clearly hear her puzzlement at what she was seeing. Nikki gave her bonus points for following the vehicle. It’s exactly what she would have done herself, yet she would have put money on it that Springer would have pulled into the side of the road and waited for back-up. Maybe the woman wasn’t quite as much of an arse as Nikki thought she was.

Archie was speaking again, his voice loud, harsh against the mumbles of the CSIs working the screen, causing them to look over. ‘Get to get to the bottom of this, Parekh. Right! They not done yet?’ He glowered over the inner cordon tape and Nikki thought for a moment that he was going to burst through the tape. Instead, he took a step back and exhaled. His entire body seemed to deflate like a burst balloon. He raked his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat. ‘Did something awful tae her at the weekend at the conference.’

Nikki and Sajid exchanged glances and waited. What the hell could he have done that was so bad? Archie Hegley was a straight shooter, but he was fair. Not often he was nasty for the sake of being nasty. Nikki nudged Saj and nodded towards their boss. Saj was better at dealing with the emotions side of stuff. With an exaggerated, but silent sigh, Saj shook his head and stepped forward. ‘Weren’t you leading one of the sessions, sir?’

‘Yep, that I was, Malik … that I was.’ He glanced up, his eyes lasering Sajid. Nikki shuffled her feet in the snow, feeling more dampness soak into her socks.

‘I was a bastard to that woman. Told her she needed tae show a bit of guts.’ His gaze moved from Sajid to Nikki. ‘Told her she needed tae be a bit mair like you.’

Ah! Nikki got it. Archie was wondering if Springer had only followed the van because of his harsh words … inside Nikki wondered if he was right. Had his casting her up to Springer been what had sent her off acting unpredictably? Voice calm, she looked at Archie. ‘Well, we’ll just have to find Springer then, won’t we?’

‘Felicity … that’s her name. Felicity!’

Felicity? She hadn’t known that. She’d never really thought of her as having a first name. Of course, she knew she must have, everyone did, but Nikki just hadn’t given it any thought and if she had, she’d have thought it might be something tough like Hilda or Eva – as in Braun or maybe like the big boss, who was cold to the point of iceberg.

She held her boss’s stare until they were interrupted by a yell from Fells. ‘Right, you lot. We’ve done all we can for now. Get your freezing arses over here and we’ll walk you through what we’ve got. Stick to the treads though.’

Yanking her gaze away from Archie’s, Nikki smiled a tight smile and squeezed his arm once. ‘Get back to Trafalgar House and get things sorted at that end, boss. Saj and I have this.’

‘Yeah, I’ve ordered the police helicopter out. It’ll be up soon and maybe they’ll find something.’ Pausing, he bit his lip. ‘Soon as yer done here, Parekh, I want you wi’ me when I speak tae her family.’

Family? The Spaniel? Really? Nikki bit her lip as shame washed over her. The woman had been abducted, was clearly injured, possibly dead and she was behaving like a witch. ‘Better if Saj goes with you, Archie. He’s more … you know … touchy-feely than me.’

She ignored her partner’s mumbled, ‘That wouldn’t be hard.’

‘Not that I couldn’t do it, you know, but …’

Archie cut her off. ‘I asked you, damn it, Parekh. For once in your bloody life just do as yer told, will you?’ and not waiting for her response he stormed off, coat wafting behind him in the slight breeze that had started.

When Saj snorted, Nikki rammed her elbow into his side. ‘Shut up … just shut up.’

She watched Archie trundle back to his vehicle, before ducking under the tape with Saj to approach Gracie Fells, who was standing beside Springer’s car. As soon as Nikki crouched to peer inside the vehicle, she could smell the lingering cordite in the air and her eyes were drawn to the driver’s seat. She flicked a glance at the CSI. ‘Gunshot?’

The CSI nodded. ‘Yes, difficult to estimate where she was hit because of the impact, but if she was sitting upright in the seat, chances are, it went straight through her chest or possibly her shoulder.’

Neither option was ideal, but if it had hit her shoulder, she might still be alive. The question was, how long would her abductors want to keep an injured woman alive? And if they dumped her in this weather, even if she was alive, the chances of her staying that way for long, were next to zero. ‘What did you find inside the car?’

‘Her phone was in the footwell of the passenger seat.’

That tallied with Nikki’s estimation of the recorded phone call. Springer seemed to somehow have lost her phone although thankfully it was on speakerphone so, although faint, they managed to pick up what she was saying.

‘Her bag’s in there too. Doesn’t look like it’s been rifled. A whole load of used tissues – more like she’d been crying than that she had a cold. We’ll find out when we get them back to the lab … not that her crying will necessarily have anything to do with what happened to her.’ The CSI moved back and pointed to the bloody slush. ‘She was dragged out of the vehicle. Blood trace on the car and onto the road. Difficult, because of the snow, to gauge exactly how much blood loss. Looks like they moved her to a larger vehicle – some sort of transit van, I reckon, judging by the car tracks. We’ll narrow that down when we get the casts back to the lab. But, if she saw a hand waving through the back lights, I’d reckon it was probably one of those ones you can borrow from any company, like Enterprise or the like. Those have an enclosed back and the doors open at the rear.’

‘That’s not going to make it any easier. We’ll have to check out van rental companies in the district as well as owners. Sooner you can get the make and model narrowed down the better.’

Ignoring Gracie’s annoyed tut, Nikki studied the rest of the scene as the CSI continued. ‘You can see blood drops and smears as her feet are pulled through the slush, then it looks like she was put into the back of the van. The vehicle skidded as it set off making these tread marks too blurry to cast effectively, however, one of my team got some better prints twenty yards down there.’

Nikki’s phone buzzed. She took it out and saw it was a text from Archie. Opening it she frowned. What the hell? Saj, who’d completed a circuit around the Kia, re-joined her. ‘You okay, Nik? Bad news?’

Nikki flicked her phone shut and smiled. ‘No, nothing like that. Just Marcus griping because I missed Sunday dinner,’ she lied.

Seeing that Saj looked sceptical, Nikki turned and perused the rest of the scene. She’d deal with Archie’s weird text later. Trying to replay what had happened, she cast her mind back to the recorded conversation she’d listened to numerous times on the drive to the scene. Seemed like Springer had a near-miss seconds before the final crash. The recording had clearly picked up the impact of the two vehicles. Now, seeing the scrunched-up front end of Springer’s car, it was clear that Springer had rammed the vehicle in front. Had she done it to try to stop them? If so, that was madness. On the other hand, had she been trying to retrieve her phone and not noticed that the van had stopped? Or there was another option that seemed more likely, for it was what Nikki would have done if she’d been the van driver. She’d have slowed imperceptibly, waited till Springer’s car was close and then slammed on her brakes, so the smaller vehicle would hit the larger one, engaging the airbags and disorientating the driver. Stupid woman hadn’t thought about how conspicuous she would be on these roads on a night like this. What the hell had possessed her to go rogue? Archie’s words rang in Nikki’s ears … was she to blame? Had Archie’s taunt about her needing to be more like Nikki, been what sent her into danger? Fuck! Springer was ill-prepared for any sort of fresh case. She dealt with cold cases … victims long dead … a desk jockey, who didn’t see a lot of active duty. Idiot! She should have waited for the damn back-up. Someone had been in the back of that vehicle … Springer had seen a hand and then an arm protruding from the taillight – someone trying to attract attention … someone who wanted to escape.

If she’d been driving a van with a prisoner of some description in the back and someone on her tail, she’d have waited till they were in an isolated space and done exactly what they did. Brake hard, hope for an impact, but not been totally reliant on that alone – quick out of the van, run to the car before the driver had the chance to get orientated, yank it open. That was it – maybe … ‘Fingerprints on the handle?’

The CSI winked. ‘Doing my job for me now, are you?’

‘Take it that’s a no?’

‘Gloves probably, only picked up smudged prints.’

Nikki let out a half-laugh. ‘Ha! Well, worth a try.’

Sajid followed the tracks a little down the road and stood talking to one of the CSIs.

Nikki turned to Gracie and, voice low, said, ‘You manage to get blood samples?’

‘Yeah, course we did.’

Glancing down to make sure Saj was still out of earshot, Nikki continued. ‘Orders from above, get it tested for these.’ She turned her phone so Gracie could see Archie’s text. ‘Keep it on the QT, eh? Results for my eyes only, okay?’

Gracie glanced at Saj who was striding back, blowing on his hands as he surveyed the area around the crash, and nodded. ‘Very mysterious, but you got it. Your eyes only … very 007.’ And she began humming the theme tune.

Nikki scowled; now she’d be humming the damn tune too for the rest of the day, no doubt.

Saj glanced at the CSI’s departing back with a quizzical expression. ‘Something you’re not telling me, Nik?’

‘Loads … but I didn’t think you’d be interested in my sex life.’

Saj snorted, and catching her eye, waited before speaking. ‘Really? You’re going with that?’

With a shrug, Nikki grinned. ‘Can’t share everything with you, now can I?’

‘Yeah, but if it’s to do with the investigation then you should, yeah?’

Nikki mentally cursed Archie. Why the hell the secrecy? She wasn’t used to not sharing things with Saj. He was her partner and she trusted him, but Archie was her boss and she trusted him too. Feeling like a shit, she shrugged. ‘Don’t know what you mean. You know what I know.’

‘Okay. If that’s how you’re playing it. Nothing else for us to do here and it’s bloody freezing. Let’s head back … see if we’ve been lucky. Maybe someone else saw something odd. Maybe a van with a dented rear end has been spotted on one of the feeder roads.’

Sighing, Nikki nodded and did a slow circle of the scene. How the hell would Springer survive this? They just had to hope she’d been alive when they took her, but who knew what condition she would be in now. ‘Yep, right, let’s go.’

As they walked together to their vehicles the faint sounds of a helicopter approaching got louder and both Nikki and Sajid placed their hands on their foreheads and followed its progress. ‘Hope they have some luck.’ Her tone betrayed her lack of conviction and once she’d shrugged out of her overalls and got into the car, Nikki waved bye to Sajid, who was already driving down the snowy lane. She flicked her key in the ignition, only to hear a grating sound. Great! Damn battery was dead. She slammed the heel of her hands on the steering wheel and screeched. If there was one thing Nikki hated, it was to ask for help with her car. Stepping back out onto the wet road, she glared at the young PC who approached carrying a set of jump leads and a huge smile. She glowered at him. ‘Just get it started and if this gets round Trafalgar House, I’ll know whose guts to add to my garters, right?’