Double Dealing (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Series Book Two) (20 page)

37

They met at a bus stop just down the road from Worthy and Son, each of them taking a circuitous route. It stood on a quiet residential street and with woollen scarves disguising the bottom half of their faces, shoulders hunched around their ears and padded winter coats on, who would look at them twice? Just two blokes waiting for the bus into town. Much less conspicuous than a pub or café where there would be witnesses and no doubt CCTV. There were no cameras out here.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ His voice sounded strained, even to himself.

  ‘You’re panicking again.’

  ‘What do you expect me to do? The police turn up at work twice in two days and you’re wondering why I’m anxious? It’s all right for you.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

He turned away, glancing up and down the street, half expecting a police car to pull up and officers to drag them inside at any moment. ‘You’re like a robot. Doesn’t anything bother you?’

His companion laughed; a dry, throaty chuckle that made his flesh crawl.

  ‘Not much. There is one tiny thing though.’

  ‘Surprise me.’

  ‘What the boss is going to say when he finds out . . .’

He swallowed.

  ‘Does he need to know?’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? I’ve got to speak to him about the police anyway.’

  ‘What if they come back with a search warrant?’

  ‘There’s nothing to find, you know that.’

  ‘If they look in the right place . . .’

  ‘We’ll move it tonight.’

  ‘Are you going to tell him?’

Running a hand around his jawline, the other man sucked in a noisy breath through his teeth.

  ‘I’ll have to soon, unless . . .’

  ‘Unless?’

  ‘You know what. I’m not lying to him.’

His stomach cramped, his mouth filling with acrid bile that burned like shame.

  ‘I’ll do it tonight.’ The voice didn’t sound like his own, more like the choking gasps of a person being submerged under water, watching as the sky disappeared.

The other man clapped his hand down on his shoulder. ‘You’d better.’ All at once, the thick, strong fingers dug into his flesh, sharp and painful. ‘I’ll pick you up at six.’ Then he was gone, strolling away as though they’d just been chatting about the weather.

  Turning away, he took a shaky breath. This was a nightmare. He was being sucked deeper and deeper into a situation he couldn’t control and couldn’t escape from. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes. He’d have to go back in.

38

Lauren hurled the empty water bottle against the far wall as hard as she could. She was furious, sick of being shut in here, the same four walls, the stink and the frustration.

  They hadn’t been able to kill her. She supposed she should be grateful. He’d touched the knife to her throat, staring into her eyes. She had gazed back, chin up, not giving them the satisfaction of knowing how terrified she was. If this was to be how she died, she just wanted it over with. After a silence, a second that seemed never-ending, his eyes had filled with tears and he’d dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter before turning away with his head in his hands. The bastard holding her had bellowed at him, but it made no difference. Eventually, he’d thrown her onto the floor and seized his companion by the throat, raging at him. They continued to argue, shouting and threatening each other but not taking any action.

  In the end, they left her alone. She’d rushed over to the door as it slammed behind them, pounding her hands on it as she heard the soft scrape of the padlock being threaded through the metal latch. She’d screamed in frustration, thumping her fists on the door until they throbbed.

  The room was freezing cold, the floor bare concrete, the only insulation the plastic sheeting. She’d wrapped it around herself last night but it had made little difference. If they left her in here much longer she would die anyway, if not of the cold then of thirst. They had left one tiny bottle of water, lobbed in as an afterthought. They must have learnt their lesson about the big bottles. She’d done her best to sip it, but she had drunk it all in the end. There was no toilet either, not even a bucket. She’d had to squat in the corner, as far away from the small cocoon she had made herself in the plastic as possible. She swallowed a few times, her mouth already parched. She hadn’t drunk enough, she knew that. If only she had made the most of the supplies in the room in that house. Too late now.

  Blowing on her hands, she dragged herself to her feet. She knew she needed to try to warm up, and the best way to do that was to start moving. The room was about ten feet square but that was big enough to march around in. She swung her arms and lifted her knees; big, exaggerated movements that would raise her heart rate and get her blood pumping.

  ‘I’m not going to die in here.’ She said it out loud, to the walls, to the floor. She stamped her feet a few times, then began a series of star jumps.

  As her feet hit the concrete for the twentieth time, she heard the roar of an engine, a low familiar drone. She pressed her eye to the doorframe, trying to peer through the tiny gap. No luck. She turned away, guessing what it was. They wouldn’t hear if she shouted for help, not over the noise and not from that distance. She paced again, attempting to tame her tumble of thoughts into some sort of order. The men would have to come back. They couldn’t leave her here forever. They had been instructed to kill her, but by whom? Whoever it was wouldn’t be happy to discover that Lauren was alive and kicking. Baring her teeth in a savage grin, she clenched her fists. She was kicking all right. He wouldn’t kill her, she knew that now. She had looked into his eyes and seen it. The other one might, psycho bastard that he was, but then why hadn’t he done it already?

  Perhaps they’d come back with a different weapon? A knife was messy and you had to be close to your victim. Too personal. What then? A rope? Then they could turn her around and would not have to watch her face, see the light fade and the life drip from her. They could be brutal, she had proof, and that knowledge was the reason she was still here. In a way though, she was pleased that she had seen it. If she ever had the chance, if she did walk out of here, she would go straight to the police, tell them the whole story and face the consequences. Keeley, lying dead and battered on the floor deserved no less. A prison sentence would be a small price to pay for justice for her. She hadn’t remembered her name at first, but it had come to her in the end. Keeley hadn’t worked at Worthy’s for long. Long enough for them to get their claws into her though, obviously.

  Were the police looking for her? Mark would have gone to them, in his innocent, unimaginative way. She loved him, but Lauren had to admit Mark was easy to deceive. Not that she was proud of having done so, but she could see no other way of digging them out of the pit of debt they’d thrown themselves into. Drugs ruined lives, yes, she could accept that, but then no one forced people to take them. She had committed a crime, done the unthinkable. A few years ago, even a few months, the thought of bringing cocaine into the country, of stepping outside the law in any way would have been ridiculous. Now though, she had done it and she had no real regrets.

  ‘Except for being stuck in this fucking room,’ she muttered, giving the door another thump.

  How long would they leave her here? Would they just wait for her to die? The few drops of water they’d left with her would suggest not, but she couldn’t be sure. Her lips felt tight and parched and her throat itched. How long could you last without water? A couple of days? It would be one way of getting rid of her without bloodying their hands.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be like that. They might return with a gun, or that shovel. A syringe filled with whatever drugs they were peddling this week. A bucket of water. A noose or a plastic bag. There were lots of ways to kill someone if you thought about it.

  Lauren swallowed a couple of times, attempting to create some moisture in her mouth. No chance. She took a few deep, controlled breaths, forcing herself to calm down. Hysterics would not help and neither would panicking. She tried more star jumps then threw a few punches, the quick movements of her body wafting its stink around her face and making her retch. She kept moving, not allowing her brain to process the fact that she was here alone in a bitterly cold building with no water, no food and no means of escape.

  If she began to scream again, she wasn’t sure whether she would stop.

39

They pushed desks together in the incident room, dragged a whiteboard closer and took their seats. Jonathan Knight, his face pale, wandered into the room and sat down next to Catherine as she flipped to a clean page in her notebook.

  ‘Still here then?’ she asked with a smile. He nodded.

  ‘Just about. Allan was looking for you again earlier.’

  ‘And she didn’t find me. What a shame.’

Knight laughed. ‘Chris, do you want to start?’ He seemed to be addressing the table top. Chris Rogers grinned.

  ‘I went to the nightclub Alex Lambert was a part owner of in Lincoln and got talking to a couple of the staff there.’

  ‘They’re open during the day?’ Catherine interrupted. He nodded.

  ‘They have part of the bar open for breakfast, coffee, that sort of thing. Anyway, there were a couple of bar staff there and a cleaner. Two of them remembered Lambert, neithe
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had a good word for him and get this – Lambert offered the bloke I spoke to drugs.’

  ‘Good work, Chris – so was he dealing or sharing or what?’ Catherine asked.

   ‘Sounded like dealing to me, Sarge. He offered them a taster and said he could lay his hands on more if they wanted it. Told them they could tell their friends if they were discreet.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’ Knight wanted to know.

  ‘Two years, give or take a few months.’

  ‘About the time he started working for John Worthy,’ Anna observed.

  ‘It shows Lambert has form though,’ Simon pointed out.

  ‘Did this person you spoke to buy anything from Lambert?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘Apparently not, but then you wouldn’t say, would you?’

  ‘Suppose not. Okay, Dave, what about Lauren Cook? Anything useful? Finding her is still our priority, of course.’

Dave looked around the table like an eager child with a good school report to share.

  ‘The story’s in the local paper today, as promised. We’ve had a couple of calls but nothing concrete. A bloke phoned and said he’d seen Lauren getting into a car, but we’re still getting a full statement.’

  ‘Getting into a car where? When?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘Down a side street, just after we lost her on the CCTV footage. There are no cameras on that actual road, which they no doubt knew,’ Dave replied. ‘We haven’t got the registration number, but he’s given us a good description of the car and a sketchy one of the driver and passenger.’

  ‘There were two of them?’

  ‘So he says. Lauren got in the back of the car.’

  ‘And we’re checking everyone who owns a similar vehicle?’ Knight asked.

  ‘We are, boss. It’s not a long list, shouldn’t take much longer,’ Dave confirmed. ‘We’re checking the stolen vehicles reports too as well as the CCTV footage as near as we can get it. We might be able to see where they headed, but they seem to have been careful and it all takes time.’

  ‘Are the descriptions any use at all?’ Catherine’s hopes weren’t high.

  ‘They’re not brilliant. They were wearing baseball caps for a start. Our witness was sure they were two blokes, but that’s about all.’

Kendrick let out a sigh.

  ‘Great. Step forward, Hercule Poirot. Catherine, I think it’s time we spoke to Helen Bridges again. Get photos of Keeley Pearce and Lauren Cook in the paper as well as our witness’s description of the car and these men.’

She nodded. ‘Will do. Helen should be able to get the information on the website straight away.’

  ‘And let’s circulate the descriptions to Lauren Cook’s family, Keeley Pearce’s mum, horrible Simmo, and at Worthy and Son too.’ Kendrick cleared his throat. ‘That place smells fishy to me.’

Chris said, ‘Particularly Alex Lambert.’

  ‘Let’s bring him in,’ Kendrick decided. ‘It’s now a week since Mark Cook last saw his wife. Unless she’s left him for good without telling him, that’s a long time. We need to find Lauren.’ There were nods around the table. ‘We know Keeley Pearce was offered the chance to earn some money bringing drugs into the country by someone at Worthy’s. Let’s find out who that was. Anyone else in the frame apart from Lambert?’

  ‘Pretty much everyone at Worthy’s. They weren’t giving anything away this morning, but we should go back over there.’ Catherine sighed. ‘All the staff have worked there for at least two years, so any of them could have spoken to Keeley Pearce, except Rob Hunter.’

Anna shifted in her chair as Kendrick pursed his lips.

  ‘Ah yes, Mr Hunter.’ He glanced at Sullivan. ‘Do some digging, will you, Simon? Let’s find out where he worked before he went to prison, if he knows Keeley Pearce or Lauren Cook. He’s local and it’s a small town.’

Catherine glanced at Anna, whose cheeks were red, her expression unreadable. Sullivan nodded. ‘No problem.’

  ‘The rest of you, keep chasing up the other leads, such as they are. I’ve got a lovely conference call with the Super to trot along to.’ Kendrick gave Catherine a pointed look. ‘Let’s see what Alex Lambert has to say for himself.’

Knight stretched his back. ‘I thought I’d go over to Worthy and Son myself.’

  The squad car arrived just as a delivery van was being unloaded. The driver gave the marked vehicle an appraising glance as it drove past and parked.

  ‘Have you had some trouble?’ he asked.

Billy Kilner, a heavy box of paper in his arms, grunted.

  ‘Not again. Christ, when are they going to leave us alone?’ He staggered towards the building, his boots scuffing over the uneven surface of the car park.

Two uniformed officers climbed out of the car, one male, one female. They put on their hats as they strode around the corner, heading for the entrance. Dan Raynor shook his head.

  ‘What do they want now?’

Billy was back. He picked up the delivery note and scanned it, running his gaze down the column of items.

  ‘They’ll be still bleating on about Lauren bloody Cook. I wish someone had made a fuss like this when my wife ran off.’ 

  ‘Didn’t think you were that bothered, Billy.’ Josie Hayward nudged Dan.

Kilner glanced up. ‘I wasn’t, but she took the dog.’

They broke into laughter, then stifled it as the two police constables reappeared, walking back towards their car with Alex Lambert in tow. Kilner let out a low whistle.

  ‘Bloody hell.’

Lambert saw them staring and raised his hand in a casual wave.

  ‘Hold the fort, I won’t be long,’ he called with a grin. The female officer scowled, opened the car door, and Lambert climbed inside.

  ‘Cocky sod,’ Josie muttered. ‘He could do with taking down a peg or two.’

  ‘What do you think they want him for?’ Dan asked.

  ‘Maybe he’s Lauren’s new boyfriend.’ Billy shrugged.

  ‘Alex and Lauren? I can’t see it,’ Josie scoffed. ‘He’d never look twice at the likes of us.’

  ‘I didn’t say he was going to marry her.’

The delivery driver cleared his throat.

  ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but can we get a wriggle on? I’ve other deliveries to get to.’

They turned back to the van as the squad car pulled away.

  He’d sent her a text, but hadn’t received a reply. She was no doubt up to her elbows in some poor unfortunate, he reflected, starting his car engine.

  As he drove through the town, his phone rang and he answered it, hoping it was Jo.

The deep, booming voice that echoed through the car was the last one he had expected.

  Alex Lambert sat in the interview room with his legs crossed. When Catherine and Dave Lancaster came into the room, he smiled.

  ‘You know, Sergeant Bishop, if you were this keen to see me again you could have just phoned,’ he smirked. She ignored him, but Dave offered a smile as he sat down.

  ‘Mr Lambert, thanks for coming in.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware I had a choice. I’m waiting for my solicitor.’

Catherine turned on her heel and walked out again, closing the door with a thump behind her.

  ‘I don’t think she likes me,’ Lambert said, straightening the cuffs of his shirt.

Dave lowered his voice. ‘She can be a bit moody.’

Lambert nodded.

  ‘Is she your boss?’

  ‘Yeah, sort of.’

  ‘Feel sorry for you then, mate.’

  ‘You’re in charge at Worthy and Son, aren’t you?’ Dave asked.

  ‘More or less. John’s the owner but he leaves the day-to-day running of the place to me. He’d rather be out on the golf course these days, he’s semi-retired.’ Lambert waited a beat and then added, ‘I’m hoping he’s soon to be fully retired.’ He grinned, displaying straight white teeth.

  ‘Bet you can’t wait.’ Dave wanted Lambert to keep talking.

  ‘There’ll be some changes, that’s for sure. I’ve got plans for the place – more web design and marketing, SEO stuff. Get rid of the printing side for good.’

Dave nodded.

  ‘Sounds sensible.’

  ‘You’ve got to keep moving with the times. John’s problem is that he’s stuck in the past. He struggles to use email.’

  ‘Do you play golf? I’m more of a football man myself.’ Dave kept his tone casual. Lambert laughed.

  ‘Not my cup of tea either. All those tank tops and tartan trousers? It’s an old man’s game.’

  ‘What then? You go out? Clubbing, drinking?’ Dave held his breath. Had he pushed the matey act too far? Lambert’s eyes narrowed a little, but he answered readily enough.

  ‘Not as much as I used to.’

  ‘Lincoln’s a decent night out.’

  ‘Yeah, not bad. I prefer London or Manchester myself.’

  ‘Bit out of my price range,’ Dave told him. ‘You owned a club in Lincoln didn’t you? That’s impressive.’

Lambert eyed him, trying to figure out if this was just a friendly chat or if there was more to it. In the end, his ego took over.

  ‘Yeah, well, if you’re willing to work hard, you can pretty much do anything. My dad helped me out with a loan to get the place on its feet and I had a few good years there. In the end I sold my share. Made a massive profit too,’ he preened.

  ‘Nice one,’ Dave commented. He imagined Catherine Bishop watching on the monitors, pretending to gag at his sycophancy. Sometimes it had to be done. Lambert thought a lot of himself, that much was clear, and they might as well try to use it to their advantage. Lambert wasn’t stupid though and would no doubt see through any attempts to flatter him.

  ‘Yeah well.’ Lambert smiled. ‘There were always plenty of people up for having a good time, so the money kept rolling in.’

  ‘Must have been handy for meeting people?’ Dave held his breath as Lambert watched him.

  ‘Women, you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. I mean, we meet plenty of girls in this job, but they’re usually running as far as they can in the opposite direction.’ Dave forced a laugh, but Lambert was sneering.

  ‘Not a problem I’ve ever had, mate. Look, I thought we were waiting for my solicitor?’

Dave folded his arms. He’d lost him.

  ‘We are.’

  ‘So this is an innocent chat?’ Lambert’s eyes were cold.

  ‘Just passing the time of day, Mr Lambert. I’ll leave you to it.’

Outside in the corridor, Catherine was waiting.

  ‘That was smooth,’ she grinned. ‘See what I mean though? Talk about arrogant. He’s lying too.’

  ‘Yep, I reckon so. He’s a smart-arse, like you said. It’s not going to be an easy interview.’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’

He glanced at her.

  ‘You want me to do it?’

She nudged him. ‘Don’t want someone as moody as me in there, do you?’