Dead or Alive (13 page)

G
abriela Ciobanu was eighteen; she was pretty and could speak reasonably good English, something she hadn't mentioned to her captors who had only spoken Romanian to her. When she arrived in England she had been handed over to a group of Romanians who were headed by an Englishman called Whitey who had thought she didn't understand a word of English. In Romania she had answered an advertisement in the
Bucharest Daily News
for young women who wanted to train to become nurses in the United Kingdom. The airfare would be paid and accommodation found. Becoming a nurse in England was her dream job. It sounded too good to be true, which of course it was. Her accommodation turned out to be a brothel where she was imprisoned and forced to work as a prostitute to pay off her air fare and other ongoing costs. It was a debt she had no hope of ever repaying.

She had stayed there, along with nine other girls, for three nightmare months, never once being allowed out of the house. It had two outside doors, both of which were only opened from the inside by a key pad. No one from the street could enter the house without being allowed in by one of Whitey's men, or Whitey himself. The code was changed on a regular basis and Gabriela had heard one of the men asking what the new code was. Neither of the men knew their conversation was being overheard by an English speaking girl. As far as they knew none of the girls could speak English, but it was how Gabriela learned the door code – one, nine, six, nine. She had worked out how to open her room door by prising the mortise lock away from the door jamb with a steel bar she'd removed from her ancient bed frame. Up until then it had been of little use, only allowing her access to the landing outside her room. She hadn't dared venture downstairs lest she be caught and punished.

Armed with the outside door code she left her room at two in the morning, crept down two flights of stairs, opened and closed the door very quietly and walked out into the garden wearing only her night dress and with bare feet. She was a little dismayed to find the gate wouldn't open but it was a low gate which she climbed over easily. Once in the street she had no idea where she was or where she was going. All was quiet, which was good. She wanted to get away from this terrible house where she was made to have sex with vile men; many of them drunk and some quite violent. She decided to go to her left. At first she ran, barefoot, with tears streaming, darting into gateways and doorways whenever she saw anyone. Fifteen minutes later it was this surreptitious behaviour that alerted Winnie to the fact that here was a young woman in trouble.

Winnie was in her van, on her way home from a city centre club where she worked behind the bar. She'd caught a glimpse of Gabriela in her headlights and had slowed down when the girl darted into a shop doorway. Winnie pulled up alongside her and wound down the passenger window.

‘Are you OK, love?'

Gabriela looked at her. She was glad it was a woman and not some dirty man but she didn't say anything. Winnie got out and walked over to her.

‘Bloody hell, love! You must be freezing.' She took her coat off and hung it around Gabriela's shoulders. ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere?'

Gabriela burst into tears. Winnie gave her a hug and took her over to the van. ‘Look, just sit in there. I've got the heater on. At least get yourself warm and I'll see if I can help. My name's Winnie, by the way, what's yours?'

‘Gabriela.'

There was enough accent in her voice to tell Winnie she wasn't a local girl. Gabriela got in the van and Winnie climbed into the driver's seat.

‘Right, I'll take you wherever you want to go providing it's in Leeds.'

‘I don't know what Leeds is.'

‘You don't know what Leeds is? It's where you are, love. Bloody hell! Where are you from?'

‘Romania.'

‘And what are you doing wandering the streets at this time in your night clothes and with nothing on your feet?'

‘I have escaped from bad men who make me do bad things and keep me locked up in a horrible house.'

‘Oh, shit! I think I know where you're coming from. Have they had you on the game?'

‘I don't understand you.'

‘Have they been making you have sex with men?'

Gabriela said nothing.

‘It's OK, you don't have to answer that, love. Do you want me to take you to the police?'

‘Will your police want me to face the bad men in court?'

‘I imagine so.'

The terrified look on Gabriela's face was enough for Winnie to say, ‘OK, no police – look, do you want to come home with me? I live on my own so you won't have any mucky men to bother you. Tomorrow we can sort out what to do with you. And I've got loads of clothes that'll fit you – stuff that won't fit me anymore but I can't bring myself to chuck away.'

‘Thank you,' said Gabriela. ‘You are good person.'

‘I think I might be just what you need. There's been times when I've needed people and never found anyone, so it's a pleasure to be able to help you.'

‘I have no money and no passport. They took it away from me.'

‘They're just bits of paper, love. You're a European citizen so you've as much right to social services help as anyone.'

‘I'm scared of those men and I don't want to make trouble for them. If they find me, they kill me.'

‘I won't do anything without you agreeing to it, love.'

Winnie started up the van and drove off. As she drove she sensed Gabriela staring at her. She turned and looked at the distressed girl, saying, ‘What's up, love?'

‘Nothing, I just …'

‘Just what?'

‘Why do you keep calling me “love”?' Gabriela asked her.

‘I call you love because this is Yorkshire and it's what we call people up here. If you were from Nottingham they'd call you duck.' Then a thought struck her that had her laughing out loud. ‘Bloody hell, Gabby! You think I'm a lesbian!'

‘No, I … I am just wondering that is all.'

‘You wondered if I wanted you to be my lover?'

‘I do not know why you help me.'

‘Bloody hell! I bet you thought you were out of the frying pan into the fire!'

‘Which is this frying pan?'

‘Never mind, love. And no, I'm not a lesbian. You'll have a bed to yourself tonight. I'll straighten you out tomorrow.'

‘You will straighten me out?'

‘Like I said, never mind.'

Winnie's house had three bedrooms. She had friends who came and went; friends who needed a bed for a night or more. Friends who moved around in dark places and who trusted Winnie with their secrets. Some of these secrets had outlived their owners and it was these secrets she intended passing on to Sep.

Gabriela slept fitfully that night, occasionally calling out in her sleep. Winnie was a light sleeper who was woken up by each of these outbursts. At nine the next morning she tapped on Gabriela's door and opened it.

‘You sleep all right?'

‘Yes, thank you, but I keep waking up thinking I am back in that horrible house.'

‘I know, I heard you.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry if I keep you awake.'

‘Gabby … do you mind if I call you Gabby?'

‘Not at all. My friends at home called me Gabby, but my mother did not like it.'

‘Mother's tend not to like nicknames. My real name's Winifred which is a bit of a mouthful.'

‘Like Gabriela.'

‘No, Gabriela's a beautiful name. Anyway, I want to talk to you about this house you were kept in. I'd like to find out exactly where it is.'

Gabriela became frightened. ‘Please, I do not want to go back there. They will know I am missing and they will be looking for me.'

‘You don't have to go there. We can search for the house on my computer.'

‘Can we? I was never very good with computers. My young brother, he is the computer one in our family.'

Winnie sat on the edge of her bed. ‘Tell me about your family and where they live.'

‘We live in a beautiful town called Vatra Dornia in the Carpathian mountains in the north of Romania. It is a ski resort and my father works there.'

‘What? Is he a ski instructor?'

‘No, no. He works the ski lift and does any other jobs they require him to do. He is a good man. My mother works sometimes in a baker shop in the town so we have plenty of bread and cakes to eat.'

‘Lucky you.'

‘I was going to go to medical school in Romania when I saw an advertisement in the newspaper asking for young women to go to England to train as nurses.'

‘Which is how you ended up here … bastards!'

Winnie listened with mounting disgust at the story Gabriela told of the vile men who brought her and three others to Leeds in the back of a van and hustled them into the house at the dead of night. All of them were made to strip and were raped by their captors before being imprisoned in rooms in a large terraced house.

‘Did you get any of their names?'

‘In the time I was there the Romanian names I remember are Dragos, Stefan, Grigos and Cezar. All of them are very bad men. There was one Englishman who I think was the boss. He was called Whitey.'

They talked for half an hour until Winnie thought she knew all she needed to know about this unfortunate young woman, then she took her to her own room and opened her wardrobe at the bottom of which was a large drawer packed with various garments.

‘I'm not saying they're the height of fashion but they're all wearable and clean and too small for me.'

Gabriel smiled broadly. ‘This is very good. I haven't been dressed in any proper clothes since three months when I come to the house.'

‘Yeah, I can imagine. There's a few pairs of jeans that should be OK, and some tops. I think you can make yourself look presentable.'

‘Presentable? You say words I do not understand.'

‘It means you'll look good, pretty, attractive. There's a bathroom if you want a bath and I've got stacks of make-up. I think you should stay here for a few days until those men stop looking for you. It'll give me a chance to figure out what to do to help you.'

I
f Sep's plan were to succeed he needed to be a hard man to track down, and his car would be a dead giveaway. His bright red Audi Quattro was known to most coppers from his station especially to Cope. If Cope saw his car his plan would be in tatters. If Cope saw his ragged, penniless informer in any car, his plan would be in tatters – unless the car wasn't registered in his name – not only not in his name but in Jimmy Lennon's name. How the hell did he get around that? Buy a car but not tax or insure it? That would be a ruse with a limited life. Public transport? Possibly, but a bit inconvenient for a man with his mission in life. There would be occasions when he needed to get to places quickly, without waiting half an hour at a bus stop. Plus he might need to get to places in the middle of the night when the buses weren't running.

Sep advertised his car in the paper and sold it within two days for 15,250 pounds. He then spent a thousand of this on a bicycle. It was no ordinary bike, it had a carbon frame made to fit his height, and twenty speed gearing. He paid for mudguards to be fitted to avoid him being sprayed in wet weather, and decent lights for his night-time riding. It was the best bike he'd ever ridden. It was light and comfortable and went up hills as if it were motorised. To make it thief-proof he had it fitted with a concealed computer tracking device and he bought a top-of-the-range chain and lock. Sep was delighted with his purchase, especially as the exercise would do him no harm at all. His first port-of-call was the Sword and Slingshot.

The window space was still boarded up. He went in the front door and smiled at Joyce who was staring at him from behind the bar. He held up a hand to forestall her diatribe.

‘It's me, Sep Black.'

‘Bloody hell! You've let yourself go.'

They were welcome words to Sep. Joyce knew him quite well. ‘I've had a difficult few weeks. It's OK. I've not come back as a customer. I've come to make good the damage I did.'

‘Have you now?'

‘Yes. I heard you were getting Willie's window repaired and I thought I'd offer to pay for it.'

‘The insurance company's paying for it.'

‘Oh … for all of it?'

‘No, just for a replacement window – but the replacement this pub needs is the original window.'

‘I agree.'

‘You do?'

‘Of course I do. I loved that window. Worst thing I ever did was break it.'

‘What, worse than killing that MP?'

‘I didn't kill him, Joyce.' Sep said it sharply. He was fed up of being accused of this. ‘He had an epileptic fit. But even if I had killed him it wouldn't have been as bad as breaking Willie's window. His life wasn't as valuable as that window.'

‘That makes me wonder why he was arrested. Was it kiddie-fiddling?'

‘What makes you say that?'

‘Stuff I've heard – it was, wasn't it?'

‘You'll find out one day.'

‘But not from you?'

‘No.'

Joyce said, ‘The insurance company'll pay seven-fifty for a replacement stained-glass window out of a catalogue, but it won't be anything like the original.'

‘Was
it completely original?' Sep asked. ‘I once heard it had been smashed and repaired before.'

‘Yeah, about a hundred years ago, and whoever repaired it did a brilliant job.'

‘And how much would it cost for a brilliant job now?'

‘I've had a quote from a chap in York who's worked on the Minster windows. He's supposed to be the best around. He reckons it'll take him and a lad two weeks and five hundred in materials.'

‘How much altogether?'

‘Fifteen hundred.'