Hit and Run

Chapter Nineteen

The Midland was one of the ritziest hotels in town. Janine and Pete had spent a weekend there in their courting days. The café and restaurant were popular meeting places and the doormen in their black top hats and red livery gave a classy feel to the place.

The receptionist, whose face fell with consternation when she saw their police identification, confirmed that Mr Sulikov was staying there. ‘Polish gentleman. He checked in Wednesday evening.’

‘Wednesday? Not earlier?’ Janine was puzzled. Rosa had been killed on Monday. Where had Sulikov been that night, or on the Tuesday? Visiting other parts of his operation? Leaving the dirty work to Stone?

‘He’s still here?’ she asked.

‘That’s right.’

Relief sluiced through her – they weren’t too late.

‘Is he in his room, now?’ asked Richard.

The receptionist turned to check the keys, then back to them shaking her head and Janine felt a lurch of disappointment.

Janine told her they needed to see the room; the woman got someone to cover the reception desk while she took them up in the lift.

Shap was just arriving as they went into the room. While the receptionist watched, Janine, Richard and Shap examined the place. It barely looked occupied: a hold-all at the foot of the bed, ruffled covers and a small toilet bag in the bathroom the only signs that Sulikov was staying there. Shap riffled through the bag in search of any documents but it held only clothes.

‘Travels light,’ Janine observed, finding it hard to keep the frustration from her voice. Too impatient, she chided herself. At least now we know where he is we’ve a damn good chance of picking him up which is a much better state than we were in three hours ago.

Janine spoke to the receptionist. ‘We’ll be leaving Sergeant Shap here to wait for Mr Sulikov. He can sit in the lobby. Now, if you can let him know once Mr Sulikov is back, other officers will be on standby and we’ll make sure there’s as little disruption as possible. And please don’t mention our visit, to anyone.’

The receptionist nodded, wide-eyed, keen to help.

Janine looked at Shap. ‘And as soon as Sulikov steps in that lift I want to know.’

Shap nodded. ‘My pleasure, boss.’

Driving back, Janine aired her thoughts with Richard. ‘He didn’t check in until Wednesday – where was he Monday night when Rosa was killed?’

‘No idea. Staying somewhere else? Upped sticks to try and cover his tracks?’ Richard braked. The traffic on Deansgate was backed up. ‘We’d have been quicker walking,’ he pointed out.

‘Raining, though,’ Janine said. ‘You got a brolly?’

‘Don’t believe in ‘em.’

‘The Lemon’ll love this.’ She stared out at the passers by, ‘Two suspects both nowhere to be seen.’

‘We’re close though, to Sulikov, at least. Run him to earth. Just a question of waiting for him to come back. We’re winning.’

‘You reckon?’ She looked at him, seeking reassurance. She was glad she was working with Richard, someone she trusted enough to be able to voice her doubts.

‘Don’t you?’ He was beginning to look tired, his complexion paler, smudged under his eyes. He was careful about his appearance, always well groomed, his clothes impeccable but no amount of tending could remove the signs of a tough case. It was getting to him like it had to her.

‘Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s like transition in labour.’

Richard frowned.

‘Lowest point, you’ve been at it for hours, you just want to give up and go home, but then it all kicks off. You don’t have any sense of how close you really are.’

‘Thanks for that,’ he pulled a face. ‘But it’s not a comparison I really want to run with.’

As the security van transported them from Manchester to the holding centre in Yorkshire, Marta looked out at the night and the rain and the lights that edged the motorway. The last time she’d ridden anywhere it had been her journey into the UK from Poland. After that, it had been like living under curfew. They stayed in the house; the phone only took incoming calls.

Once she’d started at Topcat, Rosa had more freedom than the others. Loverboy Harper trusted her. She got the bus to work and now and then she called at the shops in town to get a little treat for her housemates. She would bring flowers if it was a person’s name day or good shampoo and conditioner, nice make-up for them to share.

Occasionally the girls at the brothel got tips and they would share them out. The best tipper was a man called Barry He was very rough and said horrible things; you had to pretend to cry and then he’d really beat you but afterwards he’d be nice as pie and leave an extra £10 note.

Sometimes a girl would get moved. Sulikov had other places and girls would be sent there without much warning.

Whenever Lee Stone brought anyone new Mr Harper would be around a lot, keeping an eye on things, explaining the benefit of accepting the situation and getting on with it.

‘We don’t want any trouble, do we?’ he’d say. Half threat, half reassurance.

Marta remembered her first night in the country. They’d docked at Hull and, just outside the town, they had been left to wait for a different minibus. It had been freezing, not snowy like home, just a bitter east wind that sliced through their clothes. They had waited for over an hour. When the bus arrived, the driver, Lee Stone, demanded twenty pounds from them for the fare. ‘We’ve paid for the journey already,’ Marta said.

‘Not this stretch. Cough up or stay here.’

They didn’t all follow his words but his gestures made the choice quite plain. He wouldn’t take zlotys. Some of them had changed money on the ferry He took it from them, grinning like a dog with two dicks.

It had been late afternoon as they got on the road again. The light was fading. Much of the landscape was flat, like at home. Then they had joined the motorway which climbed up into huge hills. No trees on the top, just bare grasslands, sheep here and there and regular towns in the valleys.

There was music on the radio and once or twice Marta felt a thrill of achievement. She was here. She’d made it.

She had read the signs: Leeds, Huddersfield, Oldham, Salford and wondered about pronunciation. Manchester was huge, lit by orange streetlamps. Not pretty like Krakow. Everyone had heard of Manchester. Manchester United, David Beckham and Oasis.

When the minibus had turned off a side road and stopped at an unlit shed, her heart sank. They were near a river; the headlights caught the slick of water by a quay of some sort. Was this where they had to stay? She had heard stories of people sleeping in garages and derelict warehouses. A door banged in the wind but the driver made no move to make them leave their seats.

Marta peered out. You’d never dream you were so close to the city; there were no lighted windows, no signs of life.

‘What for are we waiting?’ She knew the English wasn’t quite right but it was the best she could do.

‘Transfers,’ the man pulled a paper from his pocket, flicked on an overhead light. ‘Six going on to London.’

London! Marta’s heart quickened. London would be even better. A good place to disappear once she had saved enough money.

But when another van arrived that driver pointed to six of the other girls and waved them out of their seats to go with him. The London girls were told to give their passports to the new man. They exchanged hasty goodbyes with Marta, Zofia and Petra and wished each other luck.

Lee Stone drove them to the house and Harper had met them there. The place had recently been painted and carpeted. It smelled of cheap gloss and glue and mildew.

There was an older woman there too. She had orange dyed hair, a large bust and a wheezy voice. Her fingers were thick with rings. Mr Harper introduced her as Josie. Josie would show them the ropes, get them settled in. They should get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow there would be a party. Some of Mr Harper’s friends were coming over, keen to meet the girls.

Marta had felt her smile waver and noticed the flutter of nerves in the other girls’ responses.

‘Where are we doing the dancing?’ Zofia had asked.

‘Here darling,’ Josie had said. ‘And tomorrow we’ll sort you out with some nice new costumes.’

Marta closed her eyes. Her head still pounded and she felt sick to the stomach. No one had told them when they would be sent back to Poland. Probably Rosa’s remains would be sent back, too, so her family could bury her in the local churchyard.

If she got a chance Marta would call home; a night or two to see her own parents, find out how they were getting along. And then? She’d find out whether people could get her into Berlin or maybe Rome? Or London, she still fancied London and her English was much better now.

She looked again as the security van left the motorway and braked at a large roundabout. She stared at her own reflection in the glass, into her own eyes. London, she promised herself, next time I’ll make it to London.

Back at base, Janine and Richard checked in with the incident room.

‘Nothing from the airlines,’ said Richard. They were trying to establish when and how Sulikov had entered the country

‘Maybe he drove. We’ll try the ports?’

‘Yes.’ Janine checked her watch. If she left now she could call at the shopping centre for essentials on the way back, get home more or less when she’d promised. ‘Take Harper’s statement,’ she said to Richard. ‘DNA swab as well. And bail him to return here first thing in the morning.’

Halfway round the mini-mart, with a thrill of panic, Janine remembered Charlotte’s appointment. Today! She had meant to cancel. Damn! She paid for the nappies and the crisps and the hair conditioner and on the way back to her car she scrolled through her phone directory for the doctor’s number.

She pressed call and opened her passenger door, slinging her purchases in. She ended up talking to an answer phone as she walked round to the driver’s side. ‘She was due in for her developmental review this afternoon, half past two.’ Janine opened the door, got into the car. ‘I’m really sorry I meant to cancel the appointment.’ Leaning forward to start the ignition she felt something cool on her neck. Her hand began to move to brush it away.

‘Start the car,’ Lee Stone said.

Shock scorched through her, burning her stomach, sending tremors of fear wiring along her arms and into her fingers. A gun at her neck. Cold metal.

‘Do exactly what I say.’ His face in Janine’s rear view mirror.

Janine could smell the man: damp hair from the rain and a mix of nicotine and spice.

‘Give me the phone,’ he told her, ‘and start the car.’

She daren’t nod. Anything might prompt him to pull the trigger. She must be very, very careful. She held the phone out, bending her arm back towards him. She felt his hand, surprisingly warm over hers as he took the phone.

Janine turned the key, the engine growled into life.

‘Out the car park, and left,’ said Stone.

Janine took a breath; her chest hurt, like there were straps tightening round it. She depressed the clutch, selected first gear and touched the accelerator. Slowly the car moved off.

Stone sat back, lowering the weapon. Janine followed his directions, silent and compliant. She was working at a subconscious, innate level. When she tried to think about what she should be doing, what she had been trained to do in situations like this, her brain clogged up, blanked out. As if the answers were shrouded in white candy floss, too sticky to get through. She had distanced herself from the situation, focusing only on driving the car, on listening to Stone. Deep down she knew it was the only way, a defence mechanism, because if she had admitted her fear, allowed free rein to her emotions she would have fallen apart, begging and crying and generally mucking it all up. She could do that later. For now she would trust her reactions and the powerful, overwhelming instinct for self-preservation.

Pete was growing more and more impatient as he waited for Janine to get back. OK. she had a big case on, but she had promised to let him know if she was going to be any later than expected. He didn’t mind hanging on longer but she could have the courtesy to warn him. He didn’t know whether to ring Tina now or whether Janine was about to waltz in the door at any moment. He checked his watch again. Sod it! He rang her mobile but she didn’t answer. He tried her work number.

‘Hello? DI Mayne.’

Pete would have preferred it if someone else had answered. Janine spent all her time with Richard and he knew the pair of them were good friends. He wondered sometimes if there was more to it. The thought made his jaw tense up.

‘Richard, it’s Pete.’

‘Ah.’ No mistaking the coolness in Mayne’s tone.

‘Is Janine there?’

‘She’s gone.’

‘She said she’d be back by now.’

‘Have you tried her mobile?’

‘Yes,’ Pete snapped, ‘she’s not answering.’

There was a pause. Then, ‘She left an hour ago.’

‘An hour?’ Concern pricked at Pete’s spine. ‘She should be home by now.’ He didn’t like this.

‘Right,’ Richard suddenly all business, ‘I’ll put a call out, all units on alert. We’ll find her.’

‘You’ll ring me, soon as you know anything.’

‘Of course.’

Any impatience on Pete’s part had drained away leaving him swamped by anxiety as he ended the call.