Torment (30 page)

“Last tenants by the name of Collinson, sir,” one of the officers who’d interviewed Souter replied. “They were there when both girls went missing. Both dead now, though.”

“I can help you there too, Peter,” Strong offered, “You might want to talk to the Clay family who work the adjoining farm. They gave me some background when we were looking into the stolen cars. Apparently the Collinsons had a son, Stanley.”

“Thanks for that, Colin,” Walker said. “Jim and Paul, can you get out there and take statements from the Clays? And see if we can trace this son.” He tidied up some notes he’d brought with him. “Right, Tim and I are off to the mortuary. Everyone else, you know what you’re doing?” Acknowledgements were mumbled. “Good.” He turned to Strong. “That was really useful, Colin. Thanks for coming.”

“Glad to be of help. I’d be interested to hear how it goes.”

“I’ll keep you informed,”

Strong walked down the stairs and back to his car, thoughts returning to Szymanski, Mirczack and most interestingly, Robert Baker.

On the way back from Pontefract, Strong called the station and asked for Kelly Stainmore. “How are the guests?” he enquired.

“Spent as comfortable a night as possible, guv. They’re obviously concerned at what’s going to happen to them.”

“I’ll speak to the boss when I get there. Should be about twenty minutes. He is in by the way, isn’t he?”

“So far as I know. I saw him in the corridor first thing, unless he’s gone out, but I don’t think so.”

“Okay, thanks. Can you do something else for me?”

“Sure.”

“Robert Baker. Can you get a home address for him. Also, see if you can find out if he’s still comforting his daughter-in-law.”

“You think he might be involved?”

“Just covering all the angles.”

“I’ll see you when you get in, then.”

Strong ended the call then dialled Souter’s number. As he travelled through Featherstone, he confirmed what he thought the previous evening, that the girls’ bodies would be removed this morning, and let him know that the Post would be reporting the story in their first evening edition, ahead of the opposition, DCI Walker would be contacting his Editor to confirm.

He felt depressed when he finished his conversation; nothing to do with anything Souter had said. He’d been passing numerous derelict businesses, boarded-up pubs, houses and demolished commercial sites. It seemed as if the place was closed for business.

He snapped himself out of it and made good time the rest of the way, hitting the only real traffic coming up Doncaster Road as he passed the site of Wakefield Theatre Club by Trinity’s Rugby League ground.

As he parked up, Jim Ryan pulled in. Strong waited.

“Tell me they found something useful at Luxor Grove, Jim.”

Ryan locked up his car and walked in to the station alongside his boss. “They had to break down the door to the ground floor room.”

“So what did they find?”

Ryan paused as they passed through a set of double doors to the stairs. “Big double bed, just a bare mattress, mirror on the ceiling, shackles on the wall, large wardrobe with mirrored doors and all sorts of fantasy uniforms inside. Also in the bottom, a large bag of mixed condoms, all sizes, all flavours.” He smiled at Strong and opened the door onto the first floor corridor.

Strong passed through first. “But any forensics of any use?”

“Definite signs of sexual activity. Various semen stains and blood spots, mostly on the carpet but some on the walls, not evident to the eye but picked up by their instruments.”

“That’ll take time to run through the system.” They paused outside the CID Room. “Anything from any of the neighbours?”

“Nah. A lot of foreign residents, some students, one elderly lady who said she couldn’t keep up with all the comings and goings, but … nothing of any use.”

Strong frowned. “What about the basement?”

“We had to break that door down too. Smaller room than upstairs, windowless and airless. Just a mattress on the floor, no other furniture. I left them checking for fibres, fingerprints and any other stains or forensic evidence.”

“Colin,” DCS Flynn called along the corridor. “I need a word.”

“I’ll be back in a bit, Jim.” Strong said to Ryan, “We’ll catch up on things then.”

Strong turned and followed his boss to his office.

Once there, Flynn closed the door. “I’ve spoken to Immigration this morning. I had to.”

Strong nodded. “I understand. I’d like to bring the troops up to speed with all that’s gone on before we hand the girls over, if that’s okay.”

Flynn checked his watch. “Better hurry, the Immigration team should be here any time now. Have we got anything from Luxor Grove?”

He repeated what Ryan had told him. “It’ll be a little while before they confirm any findings we could use.”

“In the meantime, what about this Polish bloke, Szymanski, you have in custody?”

“He wants a solicitor, so we’ll have to arrange that, but I want to have another go at him.”

“You’ve still got some time left to hold him.”

Strong checked his watch. “About five hours, sir.”

“I can authorise a further twelve and we can always get a warrant from a magistrate for a further thirty-six.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“All right, keep me informed.”

51

The bottom of the gravel lane was as close as they could get to the farmyard. Police tape fluttered across the entrance and a marked car stood guard. They’d arrived in time to see two black private ambulances waved through and guessed the forensics team were ready to move the bodies of Jennifer and Mary.

Susan had called Souter earlier. Once he’d told her that the bodies were being moved, she’d insisted that Gillian drive her there. Gillian was reluctant to comply but Souter persuaded her, saying he understood how Susan felt and offered to meet them at the scene.

Initially, they sat in Gillian’s car, near where Susan had left her Micra on the fateful evening, parked facing the track end. Susan sat in the front, seat fully back and leg in a cast stretched straight out. Souter sat behind Gillian.

Susan studied the activity that could be seen in the farmyard. “Mary has twin sisters she knows nothing about?” she said, almost to herself.

“I believe so,” Souter responded.

“What about Jennifer’s family?”

“Her mother’s still alive and living in Cheshire. She moved away after her husband died in a crash on the M62. No other vehicle involved.”

Susan struggled to turn round and looked questioningly at Souter.

“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know. Grief can take many forms. Accidental death was the coroner’s verdict. Anyway, Mrs Coyle moved away shortly after that.”

“And so the torment continues,” Susan said quietly to herself.

They were silent for a few minutes. Eventually, it was Gillian who spoke. “You need to get home now, Susan. Remember what the specialist said. That isn’t a straightforward break. We could be here for hours waiting. You need rest.”

“I just want to …” Susan broke off as movement appeared at the top of the track. “Help me out, Bob,” she said, opening the door, manoeuvring her crutches and trying to swing herself out.

Souter could see one of the two ambulances begin to move away from the clutch of vehicles by the farmhouse. He got out and went round to help Susan up onto her crutches. Gillian appeared at their side. Together, they made the short journey to the track end. The first private ambulance with blacked out windows approached the police tape. Susan bowed her head as the uniform released the blue and white plastic to allow the vehicle to pass and make its way to the mortuary. A minute later, the second ambulance followed.

Souter thought he heard Susan say a prayer before she raised her head again. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, a tear falling from her chin.

“Come on.” Gillian put her arm round her shoulders and gently turned her back towards the car.

Before they’d gone a few steps a red Vauxhall Astra approached at speed. They turned back to see it slithering to a halt by the track. Souter recognised the driver who jumped out, leaving the door open and engine running.

The man shouted at the uniformed constable, “Is that them?” and pointed after the last ambulance. “Is that my sister?” the man continued.

“Calm down, sir,” the officer responded.

“I need to know.” By this time, the man had grabbed hold of the policeman with both hands on his arms.

“Sir, if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to arrest you.”

“Paul,” Souter said quietly, approaching the pair. “Paul, come away. This isn’t helping.”

Paul Duggan dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He looked up at him. “It’s Mary,” he said, spittle around his lips. “You knew?” He buried his face in his hands and began to sob.

“It’s okay, officer,” Souter said to the policeman, putting an arm round the distraught man. “Come on, Paul, come and sit with us a while.”

Slowly, Paul got to his feet. Dazed, he half stumbled, half walked with Souter’s help, back to Gillian’s car. He guided him to sit sideways on the rear seat behind Susan.

The police officer got into Paul’s car and pulled it into the side of the road and switched off the engine before returning to his watching brief.

Paul pulled out a handkerchief and began to wipe his face. “They told me this morning,” he said. “Two detectives … not your DCI Strong, they came while I was getting ready for work. Said they’d found bodies. They couldn’t be sure but … they thought one was Mary.” He looked up at Souter. “It is her, isn’t it?” he pleaded. “You knew when you came on Sunday.”

Souter shook his head. “Not exactly. I’m sorry, Paul. We all are.”

Susan and Gillian had watched events in stunned silence.

Paul looked round, puzzled, seeing the women for the first time. “Why are you all here?” he asked. “Did you all know?”

“I knew, Paul,” Susan said, through tears. “Eventually, I knew.”

“Susan, we need to get you home,” Gillian said. “You shouldn’t be out like this, it’s too soon, you know that.”

“But wait.” Paul stood up and leaned in. “What do you mean, you knew eventually?” He studied Susan. “And what happened to you anyway?”

“Can we go somewhere?” Souter asked. “Paul deserves to hear Susan’s story.”

Susan looked to her sister. “I know it’s a bit of an ask,” she said, “but he could come back with us?”

Gillian was indignant. “Just a minute, what do you mean inviting a perfect stranger back to my house?”

Susan put a hand on her sister’s arm. “You said I need to get home. But Paul needs to hear what happened to me in there.”

Gillian held her stare for a few moments, then relented, realising what had to be done. “Okay,” she finally said.

52

Vince Denholme was in the CID Room when Strong returned from Flynn’s office. “Right. Nothing for it but to have a real go at Szymanski. I want you in with me, Vince.” He turned to Stainmore. “Anything on Robert Baker, Kelly?”

Stainmore looked up from her desk. “Yes, guv. Home address in Ripon, Studley Road. Quite posh apparently.”

“We’ll pay him a visit later. In the meantime, have you got witness statements from all the girls?”

Got them last night. Nothing more significant than what you already heard. I don’t think they knew anything of any other girls. They were kept totally separate.”

“Immigration will be turning up any time soon, so have another word before that happens, just to see if there’s anything else they can add. Oh, and nearly forgot, did we get anything from those video tapes from Sensations reception?”

“Sorry, guv, nothing.”

Szymanski was sitting at the interview table, arms folded looking sullen. The assigned duty solicitor, a balding man with glasses dressed in a shiny suit, was sitting to his left, a notebook in front of him, clicking his pen.

“How much longer do you intend to keep me here?” Szymanski protested.

Strong ignored him to begin with, placing blank tapes into the recording machine, pressing the record buttons then going through the procedure of introductions of those present, date and time.

“I said, how much longer do you intend to keep me here?”

“Until I get some proper answers, Mr Szymanski.” Strong responded.

“I don’t need to say anything.”

Strong leaned across the table so his reddening face was inches from the arrogant Pole. “We have an innocent girl dead, a bullet in the brain, who used to be your girlfriend. Doesn’t that concern you?”

“Just a minute …” the solicitor began.

“I told you, she just had a silly infatuation,” Szymanski answered.

“That’s not what witnesses have said.”

Szymanski shrugged.

Strong sat back down opposite, and the solicitor relaxed. “We know you bring Mariana … well, let’s use their real names, shall we, … Lyudmyla, Nadia and, of course, your favourite, Katarina, from the house where they, shall we say lodge, for want of a better word.”

Szymanski leaned back and made a facial expression of indifference.

“Those girls worked normally on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays.” Strong looked directly at Szymanski. “You’re open seven days. Who works the other nights?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“Who’s available.”

“Mr Szymanski, we know you drive the other girls to and from Sensations as well. Now where did you collect them from and where did you return them to?”

“I meet them in town, near the railway station.”

“Stop feeding me a load of crap. There’s another house. Where is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Strong sighed heavily, looked at Denholme to his right, then opened up the file he’d brought with him. “Okay, let’s go back to Tuesday 30
^th
August.” He shuffled through some papers. “Do you remember what happened that day?”

Again another shrug. “It’s a Tuesday, I collect the girls and bring them in to Sensations.”