The Trafficked (9 page)

It was cut short—at five o’clock his phone rang.

‘Sorry to wake you.’ It was Becky. ‘There’s been a fire. Twelve people dead…all chained to their beds.’

19

 

Mann and Becky parked up opposite the Victorian villa—a three-storey redbrick detached house. It had been built at a time when the area was semi-rural; now it was Bedsit Land and Student Ville. It had long since lost its front garden to tarmac and extra parking spaces and its back garden to a small courtyard and another house.

A small crowd of onlookers was gathered around the edge of the crime-scene tape. Mann and Becky crossed the line and showed their badges to the PC on the perimeter.

They were greeted by the fire detective in charge, an Inspector Ray. They stood in the burnt-out doorway. The door had been kicked in by the firemen.

‘Deliberate.’ It was Ray’s job to ascertain the cause of the fire and to make sure it was a safe environment to hand over to the police and forensics team, whilst trying not to swamp the place with water and thereby destroy evidence. ‘There are two heat seats, one here and one at the back door.’ He turned and pointed behind him, past the stairwell and along a corridor.
‘We found the incendiary devices. They’re crude but effective…’ He picked up the glass bottle that had been used. ‘They went off simultaneously at approximately four a.m. this morning. Unfortunately the local fire station had a series of hoax calls that evening and they didn’t get here for twenty minutes. By that time the place was well alight.’

Mann and Becky stood just inside the entrance. To the right and left were rooms. Beyond was the hallway leading through to the kitchen. Straight ahead was a blackened stairwell that had obviously taken the brunt of the fire.

‘The stairway effectively acts as a chimney. The heat was so intense that even the plaster wall has started to give way. I’m afraid the women at the top of the stairs had no chance.’

They stepped carefully over the debris and stood in pools of black water and sludge, looking up at the charred remains of the stairwell. Parts of the ceiling hung down, wires swung open-ended, and swathes of wallpaper peeled from the walls like strips of scalded skin.

Jimmy Vance appeared from round the back of the house. Ray excused himself and left Vance to take over.

‘The woman who dialled the emergency services was told that the place was empty by a black guy running from the house when the fire caught hold.’

‘How did he get out?’ asked Becky.

‘There was a window open in one of the ground-floor rooms at the back.’

‘So he saved himself and left the women to fry—nice bloke.’

‘Did she get a look at him?’ asked Mann.

‘She said he was over six foot, thirty-ish, American or Canadian accent. She hadn’t seen him before. She was outside looking for her lost cat when the devices went off. She said he ran past and to go back inside and that it was about to blow up.’

‘I suppose he couldn’t risk her hearing the women cry for help,’ Becky said.

‘She wouldn’t have heard them anyway…’ Vance had a face that looked like it surprised itself when a thought struck him. ‘…the place was double-glazed.’

‘Did she know anything about who owned the place?’ asked Mann.

‘She said it had changed hands six months ago. She hadn’t been able to work out who the owners were—she saw men coming and going at strange times of the day and night. The only people she saw regularly were two Chinese guys and a smartly dressed Chinese woman.’

‘Was it the first time she had seen the black guy?’

‘She said she’d seen him and another big white guy a couple of times in the last few days.’

Vance led them up the stairs. ‘There were four bedrooms on each landing, two to the right, two to the left, and a bathroom straight ahead. Watch where you’re standing and don’t touch anything, it will probably give way. The firemen had no idea that there was anyone in here until…they reached here and found this…’

They stopped on the top landing. Vance stood back to allow them to peer inside. The biting chemical smell
from burnt paint and melted nylon carpet had a new undertone—the smell of roasted flesh.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Becky reeled and instinctively turned away.

‘It’s not a pretty sight. No way out…horrible death. Each of the victims is chained to their bed,’ said Vance.

The women’s knees were drawn into their bodies; their arms were held up in front of their faces. Their jaws were wide open and their teeth glared in the black of incinerated flesh. ‘The other room is just the same. Each of the rooms has six victims. Both rooms overlook the front, the others looks over the courtyard at the back, but they were both barred and shuttered.’

‘What’s in them?’ Mann pointed towards the other rooms on the landing.

‘I’ll show you.’ Vance pushed one of the doors open. Inside the blackened room, wallpaper hung down from the walls. To the right was an open-plan en ensuite bathroom. Soot and debris covered every surface. At their feet were large shards of broken mirrored glass.

‘These rooms are both bedrooms and so are nearly all the other rooms in the house. There’s a safe downstairs: personal belongings, travel documents inside, still intact. I’ll show you.’

They went back down the stairs and walked along the burnt-out corridor to a small kitchen at the back of the house.

‘No hob, no oven, just a microwave,’ said Becky. ‘Doesn’t look like their guests stayed to dinner.’

One of the SOCO team was examining the contents
of a tabletop safe. It had survived the fire intact, only its red-paint finish was bubbled and peeled. Vance passed Becky and Mann some latex gloves.

‘You’ll need those. Some of it has fused due to the heat.’ Vance began to carefully open the pages of a passport. ‘But we will get the experts to unravel it. So far, we have twelve passports and twelve corpses. He held up a passport for them to see. This girl, recently issued passport—three months ago—says she’s eighteen.’

‘Yeah, going on twelve.’ Mann studied the photo. ‘She’s a Filipina.’

‘Here’s a travel itinerary for them.’ Vance passed a piece of paper to him.

Mann took it and studied it. ‘Says they came in via Hong Kong: originally on a tourist visa; been here for two weeks.’

‘Is this the first fire of this kind you’ve had here?’ Mann asked Becky.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘We know they came via Hong Kong and we know they were supplied with travel papers there. We have Chinese and non-Chinese working together at this end. I think these women were brought in by the new boys. I also think someone much further up the chain was watching and not approving. There has been some muscle-flexing here. I think we are done here,’ said Mann.

Becky nodded. ‘Okay, thanks, Jimmy, see you back at the office.’

‘No problem. If we find anything interesting I’ll ring you.’

* * *

 

Back in the car, Becky took her time starting the engine. They sat in silence and stared at the scene. They could see the white-suited SOCOs moving behind the bars of the bedrooms on the third floor.

‘Must be the worst way to go.’ Becky shivered.

Mann didn’t answer. He was busy watching a Chinese man standing on the other side of the road, behind the house, staring intently at the house and talking on his phone.

Becky rested her head back against the head rest and sighed deeply. She looked across at Mann then she looked past him to see what he was staring at. The Chinese man had disappeared.

‘I just don’t get it, Johnny. What about the man who ran away from the scene? Who could do something like that knowing they couldn’t get out? Even if he didn’t set the place alight, he’s just committed murder anyway.’

‘He definitely didn’t set the place alight. My guess is he was left here to look after the women. When the incendiaries went off he saved himself and destroyed the evidence.’

‘That stinks. Evidence? Is that all these women were?’

‘We both know there is no mercy in the trafficking business, Becky. It’s all about money for people. The women represent a massive investment. Their earning potential was huge; they would have been sold on and around this country and all over Europe, earning money for their traffickers as they went. Someone will be left with a big hole in their pocket after this.
A trafficker is being punished right where it hurts. Losing face and losing money, two sides of the same coin. Someone’s done both here. We are in the middle of a global turf war.’

20

 

Amy looked forward to seeing Lenny. He brought her things—some GCSE revision books, much too hard for Amy but it was kind of him. He bought her another macramé kit to make several bead necklaces and bracelets. After the visit from the Filipino people to the school, she had taught herself to make really intricate and pretty things. He also brought her some felt-tips and a drawing pad. Today he said he would bring her something to draw—fruit or something. She wasn’t much good at drawing fruit. She was better at drawing people. But it was nice of him to think of her.

She lay still and looked around the room. It wasn’t a nice bedroom. It had a small windowless bathroom off it with a smelly shower behind a nasty plastic curtain. It was cold in there. The curtain wrapped itself around Amy when she showered. There was little furniture, just a scruffy old raffia lamp and a chair and table for her to sit at. There wasn’t even a proper bed—just a mattress on the floor. No telly. The curtains didn’t fit properly. Anyway, there was nothing much to see. There was a car park below and a block of flats opposite.
So Amy just stared out of the window and counted the planes that went over day and night. Amy would be on a plane soon—going home for Easter, a whole month. She was so looking forward to it. Then she realised that it might not happen if her father didn’t give the men who employed Lenny what they wanted—what they were owed, Lenny said. Then she might have to stay here a long time. Amy sighed. She had never really spent any time with her father, she didn’t really know him. But the one thing she did know was that he was rich and powerful and easily irritated. All this would really bug him. She hoped he didn’t get so mad he just wouldn’t pay. Once, she had seen him when he got mad with her mother. They rowed about getting married and about her spending too much money. Her mother had shouted all the time but her father had said little. He was like stone. He had just said what he had wanted to then walked away and left her mother shouting. They had had no money for weeks until her mother apologised, even though she said it wasn’t her fault. Her mother said she always had to apologise.

Another click of the front door, this time louder. Amy strained to listen. Heavy but precise footsteps, a strong but careful closing of the door…Lenny was back—Amy was pleased. She heard him talking to the Chinese woman in English. Her English was very good, thought Amy, but she had a strange accent. Amy couldn’t put her finger on it. She was giggling again. Footsteps were coming towards Amy’s room. The door opened.

‘Morning, Amy…Here, I brought you these.’ Lenny
came in with a bag of pastries and a mug of hot chocolate. He set down another bag on the table.

‘Thank you.’

Amy smiled at Lenny and began pulling the pastries apart. He was watching her. Her eyes flicked back and forth from the pastry to his face. He reached out and patted her leg. Amy stared at the hand. She wanted to knock it off but she knew she had to leave it there.

‘Can I go back to school soon? I am missing my classes and my friends.’ She looked up unblinkingly at him, her eyes enlarged by the thick lenses in her glasses, her face covered in pastry crumbs.

‘Soon, soon.’

‘Thank you,’ she said as she followed his eyes to his hand, which was still resting on her leg. ‘Thank you, Lenny.’

The door opened and the Chinese woman came in. Amy hadn’t seen the face behind the voice before. She had had an image of her in her head, but it wasn’t quite right. She hadn’t expected her to be this beautiful, like a model. She had long black hair down her back like Pocahontas, red lipstick and nails. Amy stopped eating and stared. The woman didn’t look at her. She spoke to Lenny. She was definitely the woman Amy had heard talking but when she was speaking to Lenny her voice became soft. She must be Lenny’s wife, thought Amy. Although she didn’t have a ring on her wedding finger and he did. Maybe she’d lost it and he was getting her a new one.

‘Amy, this is Suzanne. Suzanne will be looking after you for a few days. I have to go away on a business
trip. I won’t be long. When I come back, hopefully it will be time for you to go back to school.’

Amy said nothing. She smiled but felt a sense of panic. Lenny was leaving? Who would be nice to her when he was gone? Not that one who stank or the spotty pale one, and
definitely
not Suzanne?

‘Suzanne will get you everything you need. She will stay here in the flat and look after you. All right?’

Amy nodded, but said nothing. It wasn’t all right at all. She felt like crying. She looked at the beautiful Chinese woman and tried a smile. Suzanne smiled back, thin-lipped. The pastry had become stuck to Amy’s brace. The chocolate was all over her teeth. Amy saw Suzanne look away in disgust.

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