Dark Flight (26 page)

She crossed herself, an involuntary motion that both surprised and comforted her. One thing was certain: Sam had touched Stephen’s shoe. Why, only Sam could answer.

She tried to get back to work. She hadn’t finished processing all the DNA samples from the church. The pastor had listed fifty names. Forty-seven had turned up and Sam was the last. She made a note to speak to Bill about the missing three. Despite her best efforts, her mind continually returned to Sam. Her gut instinct told her he was alive. He had sent the message in the
early hours of Sunday morning. Surely Bill could discover where the message had been sent from? The more she thought of his phrase ‘I’m sorry’, the more she knew it meant he was going away. Sam couldn’t leave without saying something. But where had he gone?

Somewhere he didn’t need warm clothes.

Home? Could he have gone home to Nigeria?

The more she thought about it, the more Chrissy suspected and hoped it was true. Sam threw the jumper away because he didn’t need it any more. Not in a country where it was hot even when it rained.

Bill glanced through the pathology report one more time. Malchie had been high when he died. The report showed similar toxic levels to those found in the urine of the murderer, suggesting they were smoking the same dope. Why Malchie was at the Olatundes’ flat, Bill had no idea. Had he gone there of his own free will? What connection was there between Olatunde and Malcolm Menzies?

One thing he was sure of: Malchie had died because he knew too much, or had met the murderer and could identify him. This probably meant his mate Danny was in danger too. Bill had already sent a constable to the Fergus home, where Danny Fergus Senior had given him extensive grief. He’d point-blank refused to say where Danny was and wouldn’t believe that his son was in danger, even when the constable told him about Malchie’s murder. They were trying to locate Danny. He could only hope the murderer didn’t get to him
first. Bill didn’t want another dead teenager on his conscience.

They hadn’t discovered yet who the extra child was who had travelled with the Olatundes to Nigeria. Bill had spoken briefly to Henry Boswell, the honorary consul in Kano. Apparently the Olatundes had left Kano almost immediately and gone to their rural home outside the city. The local police were checking.

The consul didn’t sound too hopeful. ‘The extended family system considers many members to be brothers or sisters. They don’t need the same mother.’

‘But he had only one child here.’

‘Maybe the boy was staying with a relative, going to a different school. Boys are special in this culture.’

Didn’t Bill know it? Two women and one young man lay dead in the mortuary, waiting for the murderer to be caught before they could be buried. They’d been killed because someone wanted Stephen, because he was a boy and special.

And what would happen to Stephen if they found him alive? Correction. When they found him alive. Who would take care of the boy now that his mother and grandmother were dead?

Bill wouldn’t let himself think that way. That was the job of Social Services.

‘Sir?’

Bill swivelled around to face Janice.

‘Peter Niven on the phone.’

‘Niven?’ Bill dragged his mind back to the present.

‘Operation Pentameter.’

‘Right. Put him through.’

He picked up the receiver.

Operation Pentameter had been set up to monitor the increase in human trafficking into the UK, both adult and child. Fifty-five police forces were involved. North of the border it was coordinated by the SDEA, the Scottish Drug Enforcement Agency.

‘DI Wilson?’

‘Speaking.’

‘Can you come down here? I have some info you should see.’

Bill hesitated before answering.

Niven spoke again. ‘It’s very important.’

‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’

The SDEA was based a short drive away on the M8, not far from Glasgow Airport. He left Janice and the team working on tracing Sam’s last call, finding Danny Fergus, interviewing the sauna owner and trying to establish if Sam had left the country. And that was only the half of it. The deeper they went into this case, the more complex it became. Bill was beginning to wonder whether there was black magic working against them.

The run out to the Osprey House complex was easy now the morning rush-hour traffic had cleared. In the near distance, planes lifted from the airport runway into a cloudy sky, spelling escape. Bill wished he was on one, heading off on holiday, Margaret by his side. He made a mental note to book some leave for the summer. He would take Margaret and the kids away for a fortnight. They hadn’t done that in years. Better still, him and Margaret alone for two weeks. No teenagers, no work, no dead bodies. He knew that any
plans for the summer depended on the results of the biopsy, but he felt better making them anyway.

Margaret still hadn’t heard from the hospital. A week she’d said. Every day felt like a fortnight. She had remained calm, but Bill knew when he woke in the night that she lay awake beside him. When he did hear the soft sound of her sleeping breath, he felt relief he could hardly describe even to himself.

The news that they thought Stephen had been taken to Nigeria had lifted her spirits. Bill didn’t want to get her hopes up, yet he still coloured the story in a positive light just to watch her reaction.

‘Child Slaves Trafficked to Scotland for Sex Industry’ was the headline.

Niven laid the newspaper cutting on the table. ‘What he says is all true. It’s the tip of the iceberg. They arrive with adults by sea or air via London. Their stories lack credibility, but we don’t have the time or resources to investigate further.’

‘How does this help us to find Stephen?’ Bill didn’t mean to sound so short, but he didn’t want to find he had been brought here to listen to what he already knew.

‘We think there is a group taking the children back out of the country.’

That he didn’t know. ‘Where?’

‘Back to West Africa.’

Bill tried to digest this. ‘Someone’s bringing them here . . . and someone’s taking them back?’ He couldn’t disguise his confusion. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s not the same group. The girl you found in the sauna – Adeela – says
Jarumai
rescue them and take them home.’

‘
Jarumai
?’

‘It translates as “brave people”.’

‘Brave people take them home? Why not take them to us or you?’

‘We suspect those involved are illegals themselves. Adeela says the boy on the ship with her was rescued by the
Jamurai
.’

‘How does she know?’

‘Word filters through. Whether it’s true or not, I don’t know.’

‘Olatunde took a boy and a girl back to Nigeria. According to the passports, they were both his children, although we believe he only has a daughter.’

‘And you thought the boy might be Stephen?’

It was a hope they’d clung to. Bill realised with sickening certainty now how slim the chance had been. Olatunde took a boy to Nigeria who wasn’t his child. Bill had no idea what his motives might be.

‘We’re dealing with a culture we don’t understand,’ Niven went on.

‘You don’t have to go to West Africa to see child abuse.’

Niven acknowledged that with a nod. ‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘There’s a strong link between the Nigerian oil industry and child trafficking. Europeans get a taste for the girls they’re offered. They want the same when they get home.’

On the way back Bill took a detour via Maryhill Road. The main church door was closed and locked. Bill rang the bell continuously until he heard footsteps.

The pastor’s face was grey when he opened the door. He looked like a sick man or a very worried one.

‘Detective Inspector!’ He was clearly trying to summon his usual lofty manner, but failed.

Bill almost felt sorry for him. It looked like God had deserted the pastor in his hour of need. Bill knew what that felt like. ‘Can I come in?’

Bill waited for ‘the house of God is always open’. It didn’t come. The pastor held the door wide for Bill to enter. The entrance hall didn’t seem to have changed since the last time Bill had visited. The miracle list had at least a dozen names on it.

Achebe led him through to his study. He sank into the seat behind his desk like a man whose legs would no longer support his weight.

‘What do you know of the
Jarumai
?’

The pastor’s face was a study in blankness.

‘The
Jarumai
,’ Bill repeated. ‘The brave ones.’

‘I know what it means,’ he replied sharply.

Bill waited. The pastor said nothing further.

‘You have illegals attending this church. We will prosecute you and send them back where they came from.’

‘Then you will send many to their deaths.’

‘I have one dead child already and one missing. Two women mutilated and a daft punk with his testicles offered on a plate to some African deity.’

‘The devil is not just African.’

‘Where is Sam Haruna?’

‘I don’t know.’ The pastor said it as though he meant it.

‘Is Stephen Devlin still alive?’

A spasm of pain crossed the man’s face. ‘I pray he is.’

‘Praying isn’t enough. I’d like you to come down to the station with me.’

The pastor sighed as though he had been waiting for this moment and was relieved it had finally come.

THE SAUNA OWNER
, Ted Mundell, denied all knowledge of illegal immigrants in his establishment.

‘I have three saunas and two betting shops. I don’t have time to run them myself. I have managers to do that. If there’s anything illegal going on, it’s their fault.’

Mundell wore a smart suit that screamed ‘money’, a silk tie and shirt that didn’t come from a high street retail outfit. When the man spoke, Bill felt like lice were crawling over his skin.

‘It doesn’t matter. We’ll prosecute you anyway.’

Mundell thought about that for a moment. ‘I don’t think so.’

He was contemplating his client list. No doubt there were one or two he hoped would help get him off in exchange for anonymity.

‘The girl was thirteen years old.’

From his look, Mundell couldn’t care less. ‘I know nothing about the dusky Abdula . . .’

‘Her name is Adeela.’

Mundell shrugged. He couldn’t give a monkey’s what her name was.

‘I want the names of the men who paid to use her.’

‘Speak to my manager.’

‘We can’t. He disappeared when we raided the place.’

Mundell didn’t look surprised. ‘Because he knew he would get it in the neck from me when I found him running this girl as a sideline.’

He examined his manicured nails.

The smell of aftershave wafted Bill’s way. It turned his stomach.

Mundell glanced pointedly at his Rolex. ‘My lawyer should be here by now.’

Bill left him sitting in the interview room and went for a coffee to settle his stomach. Mundell had all the appearance of money – the clothes, the manicure, the expensive watch – but he was still a slug.

Mundell’s lawyer was at the desk, talking his way past the sergeant. Bill ushered him through the incident room and into his office.

‘Where’s my client?’

‘There’s something I think you should see first.’

Bill pushed a photo of Adeela across the desk.

The lawyer didn’t look down.

‘She’s thirteen years old. Someone sewed her vagina shut, so men had a hard time getting their pricks in. They pay more for that.’

The man’s face flamed. ‘I don’t see—’

‘Your client runs a brothel he calls a sauna. This child was in the basement. The doctor examining her found recent traces of at least six types of semen in her body, mixed, of course, with blood from the difficult entry.’

The lawyer rose. ‘I want to see my client now.’

Bill opened the door. ‘Fine. When you look at him, remember what I just said.’

Bill knew he was way out of line, but anger was getting the better of him. He longed for a murder that was just two drunks knocking hell out of one another on a Friday night.

He sent another member of the team with the lawyer. He couldn’t look at Mundell’s smug face again. Mundell would give a statement and be released pending further enquiries. And they would be no nearer finding who supplied the girl, or who the murderer was. Mundell, he suspected, knew nothing. Had chosen not to know, but was raking in the profits anyway. One man, Bill was sure, knew a lot more than he was saying. Pastor Achebe.

The pastor’s imposing frame seemed to fill the interview room. His skin had lost its grey colour and was restored to shiny black. He looked like a man who had fought his demons and won. He held a simple wooden cross in his hands, worn smooth by touch. A full glass of water stood on the table, a film of dust on its surface.

He looked up as Bill entered with Janice. When they locked eyes, Bill realised that this time there would be no pretence between them. He felt exposed and vulnerable as though his own truth would be revealed along with that of the pastor.

He asked Janice to bring him a coffee and the pastor a fresh glass of water. He wanted to be alone with Achebe for a few moments.