Snared (14 page)

Chapter Forty-One

V
icky stopped outside her house, reaching into her handbag to retrieve her keys. “This is me.”

Robert raised his eyebrows. “Oh.”

“Thanks for walking me home. Even though you live next door to them.”

Robert raised his shoulders as he pushed his hands into his pockets. “I wouldn’t like to let you walk home alone.”

“I’m a police officer.” Vicky tried to steady herself on her feet. The bloody heels. Maybe the booze played a part. She reached over and pecked Robert on the cheek. “Very chivalrous of you, though.”

“I’m not really being chivalrous. I’m just trying to be a nice guy.”

“And you are.”

He looked down Westfield Street, past Vicky’s house towards the park at the end.

She folded her arms. Was he angling for something?

He blinked a few times. “Do you want to go for a drink
sometime
?”

“I’m a bit busy just now.”

“Oh.”

She tottered forward and patted his arm. “I’m not brushing you off, Robert, I’m just being honest. I’m not going to invite you in for coffee if that’s what you’re angling for.”

“I don’t drink coffee. I’m a tea man.”

“Okay, I’m not inviting you in for a cup of tea, then.”

“I’m not —”

Vicky touched his arm. “Relax.”

“So, will I see you again?”

She reached into her purse and got out a business card. “Give me a call sometime.”

He took it, lips pressed together. “Thanks.”

She winked then whispered. “Don’t tell Dave or Liz about it.” She fumbled with her keys, eventually getting the lock to turn. She blew him a kiss. “Goodnight, Robert.”

“Goodnight, Vicky.”

She shut the door behind her and leaned against it. “What the hell am I doing?”

Sunday

30th March 2014

Chapter Forty-Two

V
icky walked along Bruce Drive, heels clicking on the pavement, coat tugged tight around her, breath misting in the late morning air.

A horn honked behind her. A green Volvo. Karen. It parked outside Vicky’s parents’ house. The lights were off in the front room. Andrew’s bedroom curtains were still drawn.

Karen waved as she got out of the car before helping Bella out of the back seat, winking as she approached.

Bella hugged Vicky’s leg, her backpack bobbing up and down. “I love you, Mummy.”

Vicky knelt to kiss Bella on the forehead. “I love you too, Bells.”

“Need a jobbie!” Bella wandered up the drive to the house, knocking on the glass. The front door opened and Dad lifted Bella up, waving at them.

Vicky held up her hand, signalling two minutes. She looked at Karen. “What’s up with her?”

“She wouldn’t go at ours this morning after Cameron told her about the jobbie monster.”

“Oh no.” Vicky huffed out into the cool air before nodding into the house. “How was she?”

“Good as gold. No tantrums.” Karen checked her watch. “I’d better go. We’re running late for swimming in Arbroath.”

Vicky patted her arm, eyes still on the house. “I’ll let you get on. Thanks for looking after her.”

Karen got in her car and started the engine. “Any time. She’s no bother.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“I want full details at lunch, okay?”

“Right.” Vicky watched Karen’s car drive off round the loop.

She took a deep breath and stared at the door. Get ready for another battering from Mum.

Vicky went inside, cooking smells coming from the kitchen — lamb, maybe? “I’m here!”

Bella wandered out of the bathroom, backpack still on. “Poo won’t flush.”

Vicky helped Bella take her backpack off — what the hell had Karen been feeding her? “I’ll have a look in a minute.” She checked Bella’s clothes — not too bad given she’d had a sleepover. “Come on, let’s see what Granny’s been cooking.”

“Good! I’m
really
hungry!” Bella skipped through to the kitchen, the room warm from the oven. “When’s lunch, Granny?”

Mum beamed as she hunkered down to cuddle Bella. “It won’t be long, poppet.”

“I’m really hungry. Just had porridge for breakfast. Makes my wee tummy feel empty later.”

Mum tapped the end of Bella’s nose. “Well, it won’t be long.”

Bella squealed with laughter as she hugged Vicky’s leg.

Vicky sniffed the air, still couldn’t place the roasting meat. “What are we having, Mum?”

Mum leaned against the solid oak cabinet, letting her apron come free. “Roast pork.”

“I love the way you say pork, like it rhymes with cork.”

“What about the way she says oven?” Andrew leaned against the door frame, tightening the belt on his dressing gown.

“Uncle Andrew!”

He rubbed her hair. “Morning, Bella.” He plodded into the room, sitting opposite Vicky at the kitchen table, bearded, purple bags under his eyes, his hair in a mess, looking heavier than she’d ever seen him. “Morning. Afternoon. Whatever.”

Mum prodded her cooking fork towards him. “You’re a cheeky so and so, Andrew Dodds, getting up at this time.”

“What’s a so and so, Granny?”

“Your uncle, for starters.” Mum nudged Vicky’s dad. “Does Grandad want to go and play with Bella?”

“Grandad’s doing the Sudoku.” Dad stayed focused on his paper, sitting to the left of Andrew.

Mum chuckled. “Grandad’s been doing the Sudoku for over an hour now. Bella wants to play.”

Dad folded up the newspaper and pointed at Andrew. “Don’t you finish that when I’m away.”

Andrew smirked. “Do you want me to tell you where you’ve gone wrong?”

“Hilarious.” Dad picked Bella up and carried her through the conservatory into the garden.

Mum sighed at the window. “Somebody’s full of beans today.”

Vicky nodded. “I’ve no idea what Karen was feeding her last night. Haribo, no doubt.”

Andrew looked up from the newspaper, pen in hand. “Wish I had that energy.”

Vicky stroked his forearm. “How are you doing?”

“Okay, I suppose.”

“What’s the doctor saying about it?”

“Definitely ME. They call it CFS these days rather than Yuppie Flu. Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or something.”

“Must be good to get confirmation, at least?”

“They’re not going to do that.”

“Why?”

Andrew shrugged. “Because they’ll have to pay me off, I suppose. I’m so skint you wouldn’t believe it. Why else do you think I’m back here?”

“Oh. How’re you coping?”

“I’m not, really. The doctor’s got me doing small incremental walks to try and build myself up. I can make it to Wallace Street without sweating.”

“But that’s just the end of the road.”

“Small acorns, he reckons.” Andrew waved at their mother. “Any chance of a coffee, Mum? Thought I smelt some.”

“Drinking coffee is what got you into this state in the first place, Andrew Dodds.”

“Mum, there’s no link between coffee and ME.”

“I know that, Andrew, but you pushed yourself too hard and you broke down. They shouldn’t have let you do it. While you’re under my roof, you’ll look after yourself.”

Andrew stared at the Sudoku. “The only time I feel normal’s when I have a coffee.”

“Just remember what it feels like the next day, son. And the day after that.”

Andrew rubbed his beard. “You’re probably right.”

Seeing her older brother like that made Vicky’s gut wrench. “Are you still on the books, then?”

Andrew nodded. “I’m still an employee of Police Scotland, if that’s what you mean. Had a meeting with my manager last week. Turns out they’ve got some wee lassie from Strathclyde in to help out after they sacked that boy who was stalking you.”

“He was hardly stalking me.”

“Whatever.”

“Do you mean Zoë Jones?”

“That’s the one.” Andrew grinned. “You’re jealous.”

“What?”

“Nice little lady like that. You must resent her getting all the attention in the office these days.”

Vicky glowered at him, feeling like she was fifteen again. “Shut up, Andrew.”

“Why do you ask?”

“She’s working for me on this case. She managed to find some stuff on the dark internet. It’s pretty much our only lead so far.”

“I see. I take it you can’t tell me more?”

“Not really, no.”

Mum huffed by the cooker, taking a tray of spitting potatoes out of the oven. “Right, I’ll go get Bella and George.” She walked off through the conservatory.

Vicky nodded after her. “Still talking to herself, then?”

“Getting worse.” Andrew leaned over the table. “They asked me if I was able to come back to work.”

“And you haven’t told Mum?”

Andrew shook his head. “No.”

“What’re they asking you to do?”

“I take it you’ve heard about this Tetra scanner someone’s got in Dundee?”

Vicky frowned. “The Airwave scanner?”

“Aye, that. I was on the team that installed the system back in the day. I’m the only one left.”

“But you’re ill, Andrew.”

He shrugged. “I’m feeling a bit better.”

“Well, you know your own body. Have you talked to Dad about going back to work?”

“He says I should do it.”

Mum reappeared, Dad and Bella trailing behind. Vicky couldn’t tell who looked more disappointed to have their play ended.

“Can we go after baddies today, Mummy?”

Vicky reached over to kiss Bella. “After lunch maybe.”

Bella tugged at Andrew’s sleeve. “Will you help us catch
baddies
, Uncle Andrew? Grandad’s going to help.”

“If Grandad’s helping then you don’t need me or your Mummy.”

Bella snuggled in close to Vicky. “I’ll always need Mummy.”

“Thank you.” Vicky kissed her on the head. “Go and wash your hands before lunch. There’s a good girl.”

“Okay.” Bella skipped off into the hall.

Andrew watched her go. “Like I say, bundle of energy.”

“Tell me about it. I was thinking of taking her up to Crombie for a walk with Dad. Do you fancy it?”

“How far round?”

“All the way, probably.”

“Better give it a miss.” Andrew smiled.

Mum put the bowl of roast potatoes in the middle of the table. “Go and get dressed, Andrew. You’re worse than Bella.”

Chapter Forty-Three

V
icky collapsed back in the sofa and yawned, legs still sore from her afternoon with Bella. She hit the power button on the DVD player. Play from the start or the last memory? She pressed a button, hoping it was what she was after.

Her phone buzzed on the table. A text. She didn’t recognise the number.
THSI IS MY NR. ROBERT X

She grinned as she thought of the ancient Nokia Robert had placed on the table at Liz’s. The X after it . . . 

“Fuck it.” She texted back.
Hey Robert. Fancy a drink *without* Liz and Dave? Vicky X

She sat for a minute, heart pounding, as she waited for a response, eyes locked on the screen.

Buzz.
TOMOROW?

Her fingers battered the keyboard of her phone.
Stag’s Head
@ 7? X

Vicky stared at the wall opposite. Tomorrow? What was she getting herself into?

The phone buzzed again.
ITS A D8!!! R

She paused before giving in and hammering out a text to Liz.
Seeing Robert again
tomorrow
.
The phone bounced as soon as she put it down.

SQUEEEEEE!

Vicky chuckled as she settled back, returning to the main menu on the DVD so she could watch the episode from the start.

Monday

31st March 2014

Chapter Forty-Four

G
ranny!”

“Hey there, Bella. Are you ready?”

“Yes I am!”

Vicky shut the door behind Mum. She stared at her daughter. She’d miss her — another weekend spending nowhere near enough time together.

“You can get yourself to work, Victoria.”

Vicky bit her lip, getting lipstick on her teeth already. “Can you look after her tonight?”

“Is this more police work?”

“A date.”

Mum let out a deep sigh. “Finally.”

Vicky smoothed down the hem of her skirt. “I’ll be home around six-ish. Can you bring her here and babysit?”

“Fine. So long as you tell me how it goes with this mystery man.”

Vicky hugged her. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mum.”

“I don’t know what you do with me, either.”

Vicky’s phone rang in her bag. She fished it out and checked the display — Forrester. “Mum, when did the clocks go forward?”

“Last week, Victoria.”

“Cheers.” Vicky put the phone to her ear. “Good morning, sir.”

“Morning, Vicky. Sorry about this but can you get out to Barry?”

“Barry?”

“Aye. It’s the next village over from Carnoustie, isn’t it? As in, really near where you live?”

“I can be there in about five minutes, sir.”

“Good. Place called Hunter’s Farm. I’ll be at least half an hour getting out of Dundee.”

“What’s happened?”

“Not a hundred per cent yet, but I think there’s been
another one.”

Chapter Forty-Five

V
icky pulled in off the main road, parking behind a long row o
f vehi
cles — two panda cars, an ambulance and the local Scenes of Crime van. She got out, recognising a few reporters standing smoking across the road. Following the sign for
Hunter’s Farm,
she walked up the drive, noticing a male uniformed officer armed with a clipboard.

She produced her warrant card. “DS Dodds on behalf of DI Forrester.”

“Why are the Dundee MIT here?”

“How do you know I’m not North CID?”

“Because I know them.” He folded his arms, biceps bulging under his short-sleeved shirt. “Why’re you here?”

“This might be linked to a case we’re investigating. Going to tell me what’s happened?”

“Don’t you lot speak to each other?”

“DI Forrester was in a bit of a hurry when he passed on the instruction to get out here.”

“Right.” He held out a hand. “Ronnie Arbuthnott.”

“You the Duty Officer?”

“For my sins.”

“Okay, so are you going to tell me what’s happened, given I’ve asked so nicely?”

Arbuthnott stuck his clipboard under his arm, narrowing his eyes as he appraised her. He stared at the dark farm buildings. “Got a call out at half seven this morning. Couple of my boys pitched up. Found the family trapped inside one of the sheds, crammed together in a cage. The kids have passed out. Supposed to be a fire engine on its way over from Carnoustie to cut them out but they had a fire on Carlogie Road.”

“So the family are still in there?”

“Aye. The girls have had their hair shaved off.”

“Christ.”

“Aye, that’s not the worst of it. Can’t get close enough, but it looks like something’s happened to the farmer.”

“Is he still alive?”

“Aye. Just. He’s lying in the corner of the cage.”

“How long have they been in there?”

“Wish I knew. These Polish boys work here.” He indicated two men giving statements to some other uniformed officers, skinheads and pointed cheekbones. “The farmer’s daughters help out at the weekend, apparently, so the boys get the time off. There was nobody around when they pitched up this morning. Had a wee look around, heard screaming from one of the barns but they couldn’t get in, so they called us.”

“I take it they don’t know anything?”

“Barely speak English. We’re getting a Polish officer down from Brechin to help take their statements. They’re both pretty spooked, wondering if they’re being targeted by some racists or whatever. They’ve got mates in Dundee and Edinburgh that’ve got into fights with locals. We’re lucky they called us out at all.”

“Who did it?”

“No idea. Sounds like the farmer’s quite security conscious — unlocks the building himself every morning and likes to keep an eye on his staff as they clock in and out.”

“What happened when your men turned up?”

He held up a set of keys. “We managed to find these inside the house, which let us into the barn.”

Vicky took a deep breath. “Can you show me them?”

Arbuthnott called over to another officer. “Here, Iain, can you cover for me?” He tossed him the clipboard.

Iain dropped it, sending it skittering across the ground. “Sorry, Sarge.”

“Idiot.” Arbuthnott shook his head at him. “Right, let’s go.” He led Vicky along a wide lane between stacks of wooden outbuildings with pitched roofs, the eerie sound of grouped hens sounding like howling wind. They entered the sixth building on the right, signed in at an Inner Locus and put crime scene suits over their clothes.

Vicky pulled on her second glove. “Nobody’s died, right?”

“Not yet. We’ve just got the paramedics standing around smoking till that fire engine shows up. This way.”

Vicky followed him through a security door into a long room. Thousands of hens were crammed tight in tiny wicker cages, rows of uncollected eggs underneath them. Two birds climbed to the top of the rest in one cage before falling back down. A blast of birdshit stung Vicky’s nose, mixed with something meaty — bacon, maybe.

Arbuthnott shook his head. “Makes you want to get free-range eggs, you know?”

“I do already.” Vicky followed him, the calls of the hens almost deafening.

“Help! Get us out!”

Girls’ voices, coming from the end of the row they were ploughing down. All she could see were similarly suited figures at the end. They sped up.

Against the far wall, wedged next to a hen run, someone had added some metal cages. One contained two adults, the other two girls, not much older than Bella, their heads trimmed down to stubble. All naked. A man lay in the corner, barely moving, hands clamped to his face.

Vicky looked around, her desperate fingers trying to open the cages.

A SOCO smacked her hand. “Keep away from that. Might be some evidence there.”

Arbuthnott stepped forward. “I told you they’ve welded the cages shut.”

“They can barely move in there.” Vicky was breathing heavily now, condensation forming in her face mask. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

“Ah, you bugger. This thing’s still on.” The SOCO by the cage stood back, waving his hand in the air.

Vicky stepped over. A large grey box sat on a table, a strip of metal mounted on two poles sticking out of the front, the whole strip glowing red. On the table was a bracket with three holes, a screw hanging out of the bottom. She looked at Arbuthnott. “Any idea what this is?”

He nodded. “Aye. It’s a hot knife machine.”

“What’s that for?”

“Debeaking chickens. You can get hundreds of them done in an hour.”

“Why is it still on?” Vicky spun round to the cage, focusing on the one containing the adults. “Have they done something to him?”

The mother put her face up to the bars of the cage. “They put Graeme’s face up to that! He won’t let me see what’s happened!” She tugged at his arm, twisting him round.

He let his hands go — the tip of his nose was a blackened stump, at least a centimetre shorter than it should have been.

Vicky shut her eyes, swallowing hard. “They’ve debeaked him.”

“Looks like it.” Arbuthnott’s Airwave crackled. He held it up. “Arbuthnott receiving, over.”

“Fire engine’s just turned up, Sarge.”

“Finally.” He strapped the device to his suit. “Should be able to get them out of there soon.”

Vicky took another moment to inspect the place, her neck
jangling
. Graeme Hunter huddled back in a ball. Nothing to do but wait. “Jesus Christ.” Her gaze settled on the kids and the
surrounding
chickens. “I need to get out of here.”

Arbuthnott led her back outside.

Vicky tore off her mask. “What the hell happened?”

“We just don’t know.” Arbuthnott shoved his own mask onto the top of his head. “We’re hoping there might be some sort of security system, CCTV maybe. Going to have to wait on them getting out till we find anything.”

“Was there a note, do you know?”

“A note?” Arbuthnott scowled. “We did find something on the kitchen table.”

“What did it say?”

“No idea.”

“Show me.”

As they walked back through the farmyard, Vicky tried to calculate how many birds were suffering inside the many buildings. Thousands, maybe. Justification for a burnt nose? Saliva filled her mouth. Her gut churned at the thought.

At the entrance, Arbuthnott retrieved an evidence bag from Iain.

Vicky snatched it off him — it was another note, matching the style of the three previous ones.

Not so comfy, is it? Hope that 24 hours or so in one of these doesn’t damage you like one year does to the birds. Feathers = hair. Hope you start to respect them.

“There’s another one.” Arbuthnott handed her another bag.

Whether it’s from shock in front of the machine or starvation/
dehydration
cos their beaks have been mutilated,
beak trimming kills
. Be thankful you’re still alive.

“I take it you recognise these?”

Vicky nodded. “We’ve got three of these already. Same style.” Her phone rang — Forrester.

“Just got here, Vicky. Where are you?”

“I’m here. Just been inside. We’ve got two notes.”

“Shite.”

“It’s worse than the other one, sir. He’s had his nose burnt off.”

“Christ.” A pause. “Right, the press are here. Mac and I can deal with it. Can you get up to Ninewells and speak to the wife?”