The Body in the Boot: The first 'Mac' Maguire mystery (9 page)

‘Just bad luck, Mr. Policeman, bad luck.’

Outside on the pavement Mary turned to Mac and said, ‘There but for the grace of God…I felt so sorry for her Mac.’

‘Best way we can help her, and the other girls, is find whoever killed Kayla.’

‘You’re right, come on then Denise Maybrook is next.’

A short drive and they found themselves outside yet another scruffy terraced house. A blowsy blond woman in her early thirties covered by a worn dressing gown opened the door. Mac could only think she must look better with make-up on.

She looked at them through bleary eyes. Mary flashed her warrant card. The woman nodded at them to follow her inside. Inside it was dingy and smelt ripe, as though something was decomposing somewhere. Denise didn’t seem to notice.

‘Jay rang. Actually ordered me to tell you everything I knew. Bloody world’s coming to an end isn’t it? Anyway I’m knackered, can we get this over with as quick as possible?’ she asked as she lit a cigarette.

‘I want to ask you about the night Kayla James disappeared. I believe you might have seen who she went with.’

‘Yeah, I remember that night, another one gone. Never got on with Kayla though, too much mouth, never stopped talking that girl. I knew Babs though, I got on with her, bloody shame that was.’

‘Do you mean Barbara Mason, the second girl who disappeared?’

‘Yeah, oh well she’s probably better off out of it. Anyway when I came on there was just Kayla there so we just said hello and that’s it. As I say we don’t get on. I was only there ten, fifteen minutes and this car pulled up, nice car, and Kayla bends down to speak to the driver. Then she gets in and off they go. She never came back that night as far as I know.’

‘Denise, please this is very important, think again. Anything at all you can remember, no matter how small, might be important. Can you remember the make of the car, colour, anything?’

Denise took a drag on her cigarette while she gave it some thought.

‘It was dark coloured, I think it was blue but under the street lights it’s hard to tell.’

‘Just the one person in the car?’

‘Yes, just the driver, there was no-one in the back as far as I could see.’

‘Don’t suppose you got a look at the number plates?’ Mary asked hopefully.

‘You’re kidding, I’m keeping me eyes skinned looking for customers not looking at bloody number plates.’

Mary gave her a card.

‘Please call me any time, night or day, if you think of anything.’

As Denise led them to the door she said, ‘Pity that bitch Brenda didn’t get that bloke, perhaps he’d have done her in instead.’

Mac stopped and turned to face her.

‘Tell me,’ he ordered.

‘Well that Brenda and her gang have a spot down the road but she keeps moving up the road trying to steal our customers.’

‘How?’

‘Well sometimes the punters are a bit shy and they’ll park a bit away and just look for a while. When they pluck up the courage they’ll drive over but sometimes they just drive away. It’s happened a few times because that mad cow has come down the road and tapped on their window and frightened them off. I’ve had words with her about it. Anyway that night, the man in the car, he’d been parked across the road watching us ever since I came on and then I see that Brenda sneaking up on him. She must have spoken to the driver as her head disappeared for a minute. I was getting ready to go over and pull her hair out when the car drove over and Kayla got in. I shouted at Brenda to go back to her own end of the road which she did do but not before she stuck two fingers up at me. I’d love to swing for that cow, I really would.’

‘Do you know her full name?’ Mary asked.

Denise shrugged.

‘Just know her as Brenda but she’s on her corner of the road most nights. Can’t miss her, big blonde bitch.’

Mary wrote down the address, then giving her a card said, ‘Thanks Denise, now don’t forget, if you think of anything else call me.’

As she started up the car Mary said, ‘Might be on to something there Mac, only problem is we’ll have to wait until tonight before we can speak to her.’

‘Not necessarily. Can you hold on for a moment?’

Mac got out of the car and rang the number that Mr. C had given him.

A man with an Asian voice answered.

‘How can I help you Mr. Maguire?’

Mac gave him Brenda’s name and the address of the street corner that she usually operated from.

‘I’ll call you back in a few minutes.’

The line went dead.

Mary got out and looked at Mac suspiciously.

‘What’s going on, Mac?’

‘Just waiting for some information.’

A few minutes later his phone rang. Mac listened and then spoke to Mary.

‘Her name is Brenda Smith, have you got your notebook handy?’

Mary pulled out her notebook and Mac gave her an address not far from High Town Road. Mac ended the call and got back into the car.

‘That’s the second time. Was that the ‘someone up the food chain’ again? Bloody handy person to know if you ask me!’

‘Believe me you wouldn’t really want to know this person but yes, in this case it is handy. For once our aims are the same, we both want the person who’s killing these girls to be caught.’

Brenda lived above a newsagents shop. Mary banged on the door for several minutes until they heard a voice on the other side.

‘Alright, alright, if you’re not knocking on my door to tell me I’ve won the lottery then fuck off!’

‘It’s the police, Brenda. We just want to ask some questions.’

The door opened a fraction and Mary showed her warrant card. The door opened wider. A tall blonde woman in her thirties with a Yorkshire accent and a very ample bosom showed them in. She was wearing a purple dressing gown and slippers that made her look as if she was wearing two full sized dogs for shoes. She led them into a living room that, while being tidy enough, just had too many primary colours.

‘What have I done now?’ Brenda asked as she lit a cigarette.

‘Nothing,’ Mary replied. ‘We’re looking into the death of Kayla James and I believe that you may have spoken to the man she was last seen with. He was parked over the road from Kayla’s pitch and Denise Maybrook saw you speak to him. Do you remember?’

‘I don’t get on with that Denise, she’s a bitch but Kayla wasn’t too bad, liked a laugh anyway. Shame her dying like that. I remember one of the girls the day after telling me that Kayla had disappeared. Must admit it scared me, I’d heard of girls disappearing but, as I didn’t know any of them, I wasn’t too worried. Kayla going though was getting was a bit close to home for me. Let’s think.’

She took a drag from her cigarette and then looked at it.

‘Yes, that’s it. I remember I’d ran out of fags and I was going to the offie when I spotted this car, a BMW it was. I could see the driver was watching Kayla but I thought ‘What can I lose?’ and tapped on the window.’

‘What happened next?’

‘He wound the window down and said, ’Fuck off, I don’t need an old slag like you’. Nice eh?’

‘Did he have an accent?’

‘Yes, I saw a film recently, good one it was too with loads of explosions and stuff. Anyway the baddie was from the Russian mafia and this guy spoke a bit like him.’

‘Did you get a good look at him?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. He was in his mid-twenties, slightly chubby face and I remember he had a moustache. We don’t see many men looking for our services with moustaches nowadays, gay thing, isn’t it?’

‘What happened then?’

‘I asked him if he had a cigarette and he threw a packet at me and then wound up the window. He drove off then and stopped over the road and then I saw Kayla getting in. I picked up the packet but there was only one cigarette left. I smoked it though, even though it tasted strange, not like English cigarettes.’

‘What made you think the cigarette wasn’t English?’ Mary asked.

‘Well the packet looked different and the writing wasn’t in English. I don’t read so well but even I could see that.’

‘What were they called?’ Mac asked.

Brenda shrugged her shoulders.

‘I’m not sure but I think they were called Soapy something. Sorry that’s all I remember.’

Mary stood up.

‘Okay Brenda get dressed please, we need you to come with us to the station.’

‘No way love, the only place I’m going now is back to my bed. See yourself out.’

Mary got out her notebook and showed her a page.

‘That’s the address of your pitch, isn’t it Brenda? By the way this here is my boss DCS Maguire. What do you say boss, could you spare me for a week or so? Wouldn’t mind doing nights for a change as I really want to keep my friend Brenda here company for a while. Of course I’d have to warn off anyone who tried to ask for her services, perhaps arrest a couple of them for kerb crawling, what do you say?’

Mac played along.

‘It’s a bit slow at the moment, take two weeks if you like.’

Brenda got the message.

‘I’ll just get changed then,’ she said with a conciliatory smile.

Dan and Adil were waiting for them when they got back to the station. Mary had parked Brenda in an interview room and stationed a uniform outside in case she had any second thoughts.

Mary told Dan and Adil what they’d discovered. When Mary commented on ‘Mac’s wonderful powers of persuasion’ and how helpful Jay Dee had turned out to be, Dan looked questioningly at Mac but didn’t explore it any further.

‘Seems like you two have really gotten onto something,’ Dan commented. ‘The police artist will be here in a few minutes. Mary can you keep Brenda company and then drop her back afterwards?’

Mary gave Mac a rueful smile.

‘Sure boss. Did you find anything?’

‘We spoke to Annie’s pimp first which was a total waste of time. However, as young as she was, Annie had been on the streets for over five years so we had some of the girls who worked with her on file. The only possibly relevant information we got was from a girl called Karin Ivanovic who was a friend of Annie’s and, apparently, the last one to see her alive. She saw Annie get into a car that night, a BMW, and, while it was unfortunate she didn’t get a look at the driver or remember the number plate, she did hear Annie say something. Adil, what were her exact words?’

Adil got his notebook out.

‘She said, Oh, haven’t seen you for a while.’

‘She knew her killer then!’ Mac exclaimed.

‘It would appear so.’

A uniform poked his head around the door.

‘Sir, the police artist is here.’

‘See you later,’ Mary said.

As she left the room Tommy and Buddy came in. Dan went through everything again for their benefit. While he did so Mac went over to Martin who was quietly tapping away as usual.

‘Martin, do you have a minute?’

‘Just looking up all the databases I’ll need if the artist comes up with something recognisable. What do you need?’

‘The girl who’s helping us also said our man gave her a cigarette pack, it was foreign and all she could remember was that the name was ‘Soapy’ or something similar. Any chance you could have a look?’

‘Sure.’ Mac went to walk away. ‘Might as well wait this shouldn’t take long.’

Martin opened Google and started inserting key words. Mac was amazed not just the speed he input but the logic behind the words he used. In a few seconds images of cigarette packs filled the screen, all called Sopianae.

‘They’re Hungarian,’ Martin explained.

‘Can you print that page off for me?’ Mac asked.

‘Done,’ Martin said as he went back to his databases.

Mac picked up the print off and took it over to Dan who was just finishing off.

‘Martin reckons this could be the brand of cigarette that our man gave Brenda. They’re from Hungary.’

‘Hungary? I suppose that would explain the accent and perhaps even the moustache but why an Eastern European involvement?’

‘Well Eastern Europeans have been known to be heavily involved in prostitution perhaps he’s trying to muscle in, start a war between the rival factions running the girls?’ Adil suggested.

‘Anything’s possible I suppose. If that is the case he’s bound to be on record somewhere. If we can get a good enough likeness with some luck we may just be able to identify him. I’ll take this to Mary, see if Brenda recognises the cigarette pack.’

Dan looked at his watch, it was just past one o’clock.

‘The artist may take a while so I suggest we grab a coffee and a bite to eat. We’ll meet back here in half an hour.’

Tommy accompanied Mac to the canteen.

‘That’s strange that she knew him. You said that he might have been a client, that he might have lived here.’

Mac shrugged.

‘Good guess that’s all.’

Tommy’s expression showed that he didn’t agree.

‘Your source, he must be pretty powerful to scare that pimp so much.’

‘Please don’t ask about him. Although I promised I wouldn’t mention his name, if I’m honest, the main reason I’m not going to reveal his identity is for everyone’s protection. Believe me you do not want to be on this person’s radar.’

Tommy could see from Mac’s face that he was deadly serious. He just nodded and decided that he’d never bring the subject up again.

‘Anyway it’s fish and chips today Mac, maybe not as fancy as they did in that pub but perhaps I can treat you this time.’

‘You said the magic words, lead on.’

Perhaps it was because he suddenly felt ravenously hungry again but Mac enjoyed his meal just as much as he had the day before.

‘So what do you think our mysterious Hungarian was doing here?’  Tommy asked.

‘No idea.’

‘Do you think it’s possible that Adil was right, that he might be from some Hungarian mafia or something?’

‘As Dan said anything’s possible but, if I’m honest, no I don’t. I’ve seen takeovers before and usually it involves a show of overwhelming force of some kind not one man skulking around kidnapping girls. Anyway he’s taken girls from at least two separate organisations, probably more logical to pick one off at a time. For me though the clincher is that I know who he’d be up against and, if my source thought there was the slightest chance that someone was trying to muscle in on one of his businesses, there’d be a high body count by now believe me. No there’s something else going on here but I’m damned if I know what.’

‘Hungary?’ Tommy stood up as he asked himself a question. ‘What do I know about Hungary? They eat goulash that’s about it.’

As they walked back down the corridor Mac added, ‘They invented the biro, Liszt was born there, they had a great football team once and they tried to throw the Russians out in the fifties and unfortunately failed. That’s all I know.’

‘More than me anyway,’ Tommy said with a smile.

Mac suddenly stopped walking and stood as still as a statue.

‘Mac, are you alright? It’s not the pain is it?’ Tommy asked with some concern.

After a few seconds Mac came back to life again.

He shook his head and said, ‘No, it’s not the pain, it was what you said.’

Tommy looked confused.

‘About the goulash, it’s given me an idea.’

When they returned to the incident room Mac had a word with Martin who, a few seconds later, wrote something on a sheet of paper and gave it to Mac.

‘What is it Mac?’ Tommy asked, still in the dark about the significance of his goulash remark.

‘It’s the address of a food shop.’

‘They have a Hungarian food shop in Luton?’

‘Not just Hungarian, they stock food from all over Eastern Europe. Might be worth showing them our man’s picture, if he did live in the area there’s a good chance he might have visited them.’

‘That’s brilliant. And you got that from my talking about goulash?’

‘Yes and something else, a memory. My mother was from Ireland and, when you mentioned goulash, I thought of a shop she used to take me to when I was young. It was over a mile there and a mile back from where we lived but we happily walked that far because the shop stocked Irish food. Sometimes she only bought a pack of biscuits if that was all she had the money for. Food from home is special, isn’t it? Even now when I manage to get my hands on some proper Irish sausages it instantly brings back memories of when I was five or six, of relatives arriving from the night boat knocking our door early on a Saturday morning. They always brought loads of sausages, white pudding and corned beef. My mother would do us all a big fry up and it was wonderful, like a party. It isn’t just the food, it’s the memories and everything else that comes with it.’

Tommy was about to say something but he was interrupted by Mary’s arrival.

‘We’ve got it as good as we can. The artist is sending it over to Martin. Brenda also identified the cigarette packet.’

Martin gave the thumbs up.

‘How many do you want me to print off?’

‘Do me twenty for now,’ Dan replied. ‘Make sure you send copies to Interpol and the Hungarian police.’

‘Will do, I’ve also got the databases lined up, I’ll see if I can get a match.’

Dan went over to the printer and started distributing the picture to the team. Mac examined the portrait. Not a bad one as these things go, he thought. As Brenda said he had a moustache and was slightly chubby faced but it wasn’t a thuggish face as Mac might have expected. It was an ordinary face perhaps but not one lacking in intelligence Mac thought. He went over and had a few words with Dan.

He was smiling as he returned to Tommy.

‘Okay we’re on. I need you to drive me here.’

He handed Tommy the paper with the address on.

‘I know where this is, it’s only around the corner, we could walk there is five minutes…’ he looked at Mac and quickly said, ‘I’ll get the car and meet you in front.’

Tommy had been right about the nearness of the shop. Two minutes later, in a busy narrow street full of retail businesses, they pulled up outside the ‘Europeast’ food shop. Its sign was emblazoned with various flags and it stated that it stocked ‘Quality Food from Eastern Europe’.

A bell rang as Tommy opened the door. Inside it was dark and there was a strange mixture of aromas – cooked meats, cheese and spices – that Mac found enticing. The shop was mostly shelving up to the ceiling packed with packets and cans of all shapes and sizes and, from a quick glance, he had little or no idea what most of them contained.

At the back of the shop a man in his early forties stood behind a deli counter.

‘Can I help?’ he asked in an Eastern European accent.

His hands rested on top of a long glass fridge that acted as a counter. Underneath the man’s hands Mac could see in the fridge below trays full of sliced meats and cheeses, sausages, joints of meat and other things that he couldn’t identify. It all looked very inviting.

Tommy showed his warrant card.

‘Are you the owner of this shop?’

‘Yes, my name is Meszaros Bela.’

‘Well Mr. Bela…’

‘Sorry, forgive me I should have said it the other way around, I keep forgetting, I’ve not been here too long. It’s Bela Meszaros.’

Tommy looked a little flustered.

‘Okay Mr. Meszaros we’re looking for this man,’ he said as he showed the shop owner the picture.

He looked at the picture intently and then shook his head.

‘No, I’m afraid he doesn’t look familiar.’

‘You say you’ve not been here long,’ Mac said. ‘Who owned the shop before you?’

‘My uncle, he ran the shop here for over twenty years but he’s gotten a little too old for it and so I took over.’

‘I must say your English is very good, where are you from?’

‘From Hungary.’

‘So you’ll have heard of Sopianae cigarettes?’

Mr. Meszaros smiled.

‘Of course, Sopianae is the old Roman name of the place I was born, Pecs. I’ve heard of the brand but I don’t smoke myself.’

Mac was curious.

‘What did you do before you bought the shop?’

The man gave Mac a sheepish smile.

‘I was a professor at a university in Budapest.’

It was an answer Mac hadn’t been expecting.

‘A professor? What did you teach?’

‘Philosophy.’

‘And you’re happy to work as a shop keeper?’

‘Believe me it pays much better and it’s far less troubling, all that deep thinking can make you a little mad, plus I like living in the UK.’

‘Your uncle, has he gone back to Hungary?’

‘No he’s...’

Mr. Meszaros pointed upwards.

‘Dead?’

‘No, upstairs. He came with the shop, only way I could have afforded it on my salary, but I don’t mind, he’s a good man and here in the UK I can afford to rent a whole house just for me and my wife.’

‘Can we have a word with your uncle?’ Mac asked.

‘Sure, I’ll go get him.’

A few minutes later Mr. Meszaros returned with a white haired man in his late sixties.

He introduced him, ‘This is my uncle, Mr. Jozsef Molnar.’

‘Mr. Molnar?’ Mac asked, hoping he’d gotten the name the right way around.

The nephew smiled and nodded.

‘We’re from the police and we’re looking for this man. Can you help us?’

Mr. Molnar put his glasses on and examined the picture. A finger went up in the air and his face had an excited expression.

‘Yes, I remember him. He used to come in here for, now what was it? Yes, he always bought the hot paprika and salami. He’d sometimes get other things but always the paprika and salami. Nice boy, intelligent boy.’

A look of sudden concern came over the old man’s face.

‘He’s not done anything wrong has he?’

‘No, it’s just routine. We just need to exclude him from our enquiries,’ Mac lied. ‘When did you last see him?’