The Trafficked

19

Mann and Becky parked up opposite the Victorian villa-a three-storey redbrick detached house. It had been built at a time when the area was semi-rural; now it was Bedsit Land and Student Ville. It had long since lost its front garden to tarmac and extra parking spaces and its back garden to a small courtyard and another house.

A small crowd of onlookers was gathered around the edge of the crime-scene tape. Mann and Becky crossed the line and showed their badges to the PC on the perimeter.

They were greeted by the fire detective in charge, an Inspector Ray. They stood in the burnt-out doorway. The door had been kicked in by the firemen.

‘Deliberate.’ It was Ray’s job to ascertain the cause of the fire and to make sure it was a safe environment to hand over to the police and forensics team, whilst trying not to swamp the place with water and thereby destroy evidence. ‘There are two heat seats, one here and one at the back door.’ He turned and pointed behind him, past the stairwell and along a corridor. ‘We found the incendiary devices. They’re crude but effective…’ He picked up the glass bottle that had been used. ‘They went off simultaneously at approximately four a.m. this morning. Unfortunately the local fire station had a series of hoax calls that evening and they didn’t get here for twenty minutes. By that time the place was well alight.’

Mann and Becky stood just inside the entrance. To the right and left were rooms. Beyond was the hallway leading through to the kitchen. Straight ahead was a blackened stairwell that had obviously taken the brunt of the fire.

‘The stairway effectively acts as a chimney. The heat was so intense that even the plaster wall has started to give way. I’m afraid the women at the top of the stairs had no chance.’

They stepped carefully over the debris and stood in pools of black water and sludge, looking up at the charred remains of the stairwell. Parts of the ceiling hung down, wires swung open-ended, and swathes of wallpaper peeled from the walls like strips of scalded skin.

Jimmy Vance appeared from round the back of the house. Ray excused himself and left Vance to take over.

‘The woman who dialled the emergency services was told that the place was empty by a black guy running from the house when the fire caught hold.’

‘How did he get out?’ asked Becky.

‘There was a window open in one of the ground-floor rooms at the back.’

‘So he saved himself and left the women to fry-nice bloke.’

‘Did she get a look at him?’ asked Mann.

‘She said he was over six foot, thirty-ish, American or Canadian accent. She hadn’t seen him before. She was outside looking for her lost cat when the devices went off. She said he ran past and to go back inside and that it was about to blow up.’

‘I suppose he couldn’t risk her hearing the women cry for help,’ Becky said.

‘She wouldn’t have heard them anyway…’ Vance had a face that looked like it surprised itself when a thought struck him. ‘…the place was double-glazed.’

‘Did she know anything about who owned the place?’ asked Mann.

‘She said it had changed hands six months ago. She hadn’t been able to work out who the owners were-she saw men coming and going at strange times of the day and night. The only people she saw regularly were two Chinese guys and a smartly dressed Chinese woman.’

‘Was it the first time she had seen the black guy?’

‘She said she’d seen him and another big white guy a couple of times in the last few days.’

Vance led them up the stairs. ‘There were four bedrooms on each landing, two to the right, two to the left, and a bathroom straight ahead. Watch where you’re standing and don’t touch anything, it will probably give way. The firemen had no idea that there was anyone in here until…they reached here and found this…’

They stopped on the top landing. Vance stood back to allow them to peer inside. The biting chemical smell from burnt paint and melted nylon carpet had a new undertone-the smell of roasted flesh.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Becky reeled and instinctively turned away.

‘It’s not a pretty sight. No way out…horrible death. Each of the victims is chained to their bed,’ said Vance.

The women’s knees were drawn into their bodies; their arms were held up in front of their faces. Their jaws were wide open and their teeth glared in the black of incinerated flesh. ‘The other room is just the same. Each of the rooms has six victims. Both rooms overlook the front, the others looks over the courtyard at the back, but they were both barred and shuttered.’

‘What’s in them?’ Mann pointed towards the other rooms on the landing.

‘I’ll show you.’ Vance pushed one of the doors open. Inside the blackened room, wallpaper hung down from the walls. To the right was an open-plan en ensuite bathroom. Soot and debris covered every surface. At their feet were large shards of broken mirrored glass.

‘These rooms are both bedrooms and so are nearly all the other rooms in the house. There’s a safe downstairs: personal belongings, travel documents inside, still intact. I’ll show you.’

They went back down the stairs and walked along the burnt-out corridor to a small kitchen at the back of the house.

‘No hob, no oven, just a microwave,’ said Becky. ‘Doesn’t look like their guests stayed to dinner.’

One of the SOCO team was examining the contents of a tabletop safe. It had survived the fire intact, only its red-paint finish was bubbled and peeled. Vance passed Becky and Mann some latex gloves.

‘You’ll need those. Some of it has fused due to the heat.’ Vance began to carefully open the pages of a passport. ‘But we will get the experts to unravel it. So far, we have twelve passports and twelve corpses. He held up a passport for them to see. This girl, recently issued passport-three months ago-says she’s eighteen.’

‘Yeah, going on twelve.’ Mann studied the photo. ‘She’s a Filipina.’

‘Here’s a travel itinerary for them.’ Vance passed a piece of paper to him.

Mann took it and studied it. ‘Says they came in via Hong Kong: originally on a tourist visa; been here for two weeks.’

‘Is this the first fire of this kind you’ve had here?’ Mann asked Becky.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘We know they came via Hong Kong and we know they were supplied with travel papers there. We have Chinese and non-Chinese working together at this end. I think these women were brought in by the new boys. I also think someone much further up the chain was watching and not approving. There has been some muscle-flexing here. I think we are done here,’ said Mann.

Becky nodded. ‘Okay, thanks, Jimmy, see you back at the office.’

‘No problem. If we find anything interesting I’ll ring you.’

* * *

Back in the car, Becky took her time starting the engine. They sat in silence and stared at the scene. They could see the white-suited SOCOs moving behind the bars of the bedrooms on the third floor.

‘Must be the worst way to go.’ Becky shivered.

Mann didn’t answer. He was busy watching a Chinese man standing on the other side of the road, behind the house, staring intently at the house and talking on his phone.

Becky rested her head back against the head rest and sighed deeply. She looked across at Mann then she looked past him to see what he was staring at. The Chinese man had disappeared.

‘I just don’t get it, Johnny. What about the man who ran away from the scene? Who could do something like that knowing they couldn’t get out? Even if he didn’t set the place alight, he’s just committed murder anyway.’

‘He definitely didn’t set the place alight. My guess is he was left here to look after the women. When the incendiaries went off he saved himself and destroyed the evidence.’

‘That stinks. Evidence? Is that all these women were?’

‘We both know there is no mercy in the trafficking business, Becky. It’s all about money for people. The women represent a massive investment. Their earning potential was huge; they would have been sold on and around this country and all over Europe, earning money for their traffickers as they went. Someone will be left with a big hole in their pocket after this. A trafficker is being punished right where it hurts. Losing face and losing money, two sides of the same coin. Someone’s done both here. We are in the middle of a global turf war.’