About the Author

Born in Scotland, made in Bradford sums up LIZ MISTRY’s life. Over thirty years ago she moved from a small village in West Lothian to Yorkshire to get her teaching degree. Once here, Liz fell in love with three things; curries, the rich cultural diversity of the city … and her Indian husband (not necessarily in this order). Now thirty years, three children, two cats (Winky and Scumpy) and a huge extended family later, Liz uses her experiences of living and working in the inner city to flavour her writing. Her gritty crime fiction police procedural novels set in Bradford embrace the city she describes as ‘Warm, Rich and Fearless’, whilst exploring the darkness that lurks beneath.

Having struggled with severe clinical depression and anxiety for many years, Liz often includes mental health themes in her writing. She credits the MA in Creative Writing she took at Leeds Trinity University with helping her find a way of using her writing to navigate her ongoing mental health struggles. Being a debut novelist in her fifties was something Liz had only dreamed of and she counts herself lucky, whilst pinching herself regularly to make sure it’s all real.

You can contact Liz via her website https://www.lizmistry.com/

Readers love Liz Mistry

‘I devoured this over two nights, literally not being able to put it down’ NetGalley reviewer

‘Amazing … A story so twisted it makes your head spin in a good way’ NetGalley reviewer

‘An excellent crime thriller … Entertaining and exciting and a particularly satisfying finale … Engrossing’ NetGalley reviewer

‘Gripping from beginning to end, and I enjoyed each and every moment of it!’ NetGalley reviewer

‘From the first page to the last it kept you gripped’ NetGalley reviewer

‘Great read!’ NetGalley reviewer

‘A cracking good read’ NetGalley reviewer

Also by Liz Mistry

Last Request

Broken Silence
LIZ MISTRY

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Liz Mistry

Liz Mistry asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © April 2020 ISBN: 9780008358365

Version: 2020-04-03

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Readers love Liz Mistry

Also by Liz Mistry

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Sunday 15th March 2020

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Monday 16th March 2020

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Tuesday 17th March 2020

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Wednesday 18th March 2020

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

One Month Later

Acknowledgements

Author Letter

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

Dedication –

To Baroness Lola Young and Kevin Hyland for opening my eyes to Modern-Day Slavery … but mostly for all those victims of this appalling abuse of human rights.

‘Once you know, you can’t claim ignorance’ Baroness Lola Young

Prologue

February 2019

A sharp rat-a-tat-tat somewhere near his head shattered his reassurance. Someone was out there banging on the side of the bin. Stefan held his breath and his body stiffened. Maybe it was one of the workers out for a smoke. He strained his ears. He couldn’t hear anything else – no dogs, no voices. Maybe whoever it was had gone.

Then it came – a coarse singsong whisper penetrating the plastic bin – taunting and at the same time chilling him. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are.’

This was followed by ferocious yelping and Stefan knew the game was up. The lid was thrown back and a bright torch shone into the inside. In a last-ditch attempt, Stefan remained still and silent, but it was no good. Whoever shone the torch followed that by pushing a long prod through the layers of cardboard. When it connected with his body, Stefan braced himself not to react, then the electric current from the Taser had him yelping in pain as his entire body shook for a moment and then became numb. Seconds later, two of Bullet’s henchmen dragged him from the bin and flung him in a heap on the wet ground. The dogs, salivating and over-excited, pranced and jumped close to him, taking the odd nipping bite before they were yanked back by their owners.

‘Oh dear. This makes me very sad, you know. It also makes my boss very sad.’ Bullet tilted his head to one side and laughed. ‘Actually, it doesn’t make him sad so much as angry.’

He waved his phone in the air. ‘He told me to hit you where it hurts and boy, am I going to enjoy doing that.’

SUNDAY 15TH MARCH 2020

Chapter 1

DS Felicity Springer couldn’t wait to get home. She’d thrown her stuff into her case, and walked, red-faced, past her colleagues who lingered in the hallway making plans to extend the weekend. She exited the hotel on her walk of shame. It didn’t matter that no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to her – she had a vague recollection of what had happened, and she felt dirty. Why had this happened? She had Stevie after all – how could she have allowed herself to get so drunk … so out of control?

Straightening her spine, she dragged her trolley case over to her car, blinked back her tears – she didn’t do tears – shoved her luggage in the boot of her Kia Sportage and got in, just as it began to snow. Hidden from view, she rested her head on the steering wheel, wishing she could clear her brain; that the pounding at her temple would go. She wasn’t even sure she should be driving. Maybe she was still over the limit but there was no way she could remain for the rest of the conference.

She’d had an awful time anyway, feeling totally out of her depth at the multi-agency ‘Making Bradford Safe’ conference. It had been billed as a way of working together to get the drugs, the weapons and the gangs off the streets. The first step in flushing out any of those businesses who were employing trafficked immigrants. It smacked of lip service to Springer, because she knew fine and well there wasn’t enough in the coffers to finance their grandiose ideas. Still, it was worth it to get different agencies together … share ideas, break down barriers. On a personal level though, Springer was pissed off. Nobody, not even the bosses from her own agency, had given her contributions credence. It was all crap, crap and more damn crap. Perhaps that’s why she went off the rails, but that was just making excuses and no excuse could ever be good enough for what she had done. As she’d walked through the hallway, she had felt like she had the word SLUT tattooed across her forehead and she reckoned that by the time she walked through the front door to Stevie, SLUT would have morphed into CHEATER.

Her head pounded – just how much did I have to drink? Last night was a blur. She’d had wine with her evening meal, but she thought she’d only had a glass. Afterwards she’d forced herself to go to the disco and she vaguely remembered dancing – really? Felicity rarely danced. How much did I really drink? Surely not enough to account for that one very big mistake. The sort of mistake she was going to feel guilty about for a long time to come. She had someone at home who cared for her. So, why had she risked that for a sleazy fumble with a lecherous loser? He was always a bit of a dick, so she couldn’t quite make sense of how the hell she had ended up in bed beside him. She remembered vaguely chatting to him, and she’d ended up in his room … in his bed, so …

Thing was, she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure what had gone on. She barely remembered the post-conference party. It was all a blur of blaring music, flashing lights, gyrating bodies and loud laughter. Snapshots of it came back to her; laughter, drinking, chanting, ‘down it, down it, down it’, but none of it was in sequence. As for after the party … in the hotel room … well, that wasn’t clear either. She laughed humourlessly. So much for the session on monitoring binge-drinking in the Bradford district!

Her phone rang, and looking at the screen, she groaned. Feeling like a bitch, she let it go to voicemail. She couldn’t face speaking to Stevie. How was she supposed to act like everything was okay when she’d betrayed the person she loved?

A wave of nausea overtook her. She took slow, deep breaths to control it, then rummaged in the glove compartment for a bottle of water. After only a few sips, her stomach heaved, and she barely got the car door open before vomiting, the warmth of her puke melting the already layered snow. Aware of a speckle of sweat across her upper lip, Felicity took another glug of water, gargled and spat it out before grabbing a tissue and wiping her mouth. Shit, I feel rough.

All fingers and thumbs, she leaned back against the headrest, snuggled deeper into her winter coat, soothed by its softness and, eyes closed, played the voicemail. ‘Hi, you. Hungover, are we? Never mind, I’ve got lunch on the go. Let me know when you’ll be home and I’ll have hot chocolate and a hot bath ready for you. Might join you in the bath if you’re lucky. Love you.’

Dropping the phone into her lap, Felicity looked out the window, only vaguely aware of other cars leaving the hotel car park, and tried to think back to that morning. She’d awakened, disorientated and naked in his bed. A trail of clothes round the room, his leering face beside her, the strange taste in her mouth, the throb down below … all of it told the story, yet … even now, she couldn’t remember a sodding thing about it and she’d been too embarrassed to ask, too ashamed to admit she’d been so pissed she couldn’t remember and too humiliated by his leering grin and the casual smack on the ass as she crawled out of the bed. This was the perfect clichéd situation … Important male figurehead beds needy underling. Needy underling regrets it and we all know who’s the butt of all the jokes!

She didn’t know how long she had sat there, but the snow changed from relentless splatters to thicker, heavier flakes obliterating her windscreen and casting a deathly tomb-like glow inside her car. She shuddered, realizing how cold she’d got and gave herself a shake. Come on Fliss, you’ve got to put this behind you and get yourself home.

Hands trembling, she tried to insert her key in the ignition, dropped it and flinched as a sharp pain went through her body when she bent over to scrabble for it on the floor. Eventually, she grabbed it and, managing to start up the engine, she set the wipers in motion, appalled to see just how heavy the snow was. Peering through the heavy flakes, she saw that the roofs of the few remaining cars were layered with a couple of inches of snow and the treads of the last cars to leave were being rapidly covered by the blizzard. Shit! Shit! Shit! Last thing she needed was to drive home in these conditions with a pounding hangover. The thought of waiting for a taxi and then having to return the next day to retrieve her car was too much for her. Resigned, she engaged the clutch, eased the vehicle from the parking space and headed for home.

Despite her aching head, Felicity found the heavy silence of her own disordered thoughts too disturbing, so she switched on the radio. But it was some cheesy love song by a boyband she had no desire to listen to. She turned it off. She’d rather deal with her own thoughts than this crap. Hands trembling, she wondered if she should be driving, especially as the wet snow was getting heavier and her wipers were going nineteen to the dozen.

Swinging off the roundabout, instead of taking the Bradford dual carriageway exit, she opted for the back road … less traffic, less likely to get stopped. And boy, did she want to avoid getting pulled over. Thoughts of yet another reason not to drag herself to work the next day made her slow right down and lean forward to peer out the window. Overcast clouds made everything grey and she flipped her lights on and continued at her sedate pace until a transit truck overtook her sending up a backwash of mucky slush over her windscreen, momentarily obscuring her vision. Ass!

But within seconds her annoyance turned to relief as she realized that having a bigger vehicle in front of her ploughing through the slush that was gathering on the road, was a godsend. She could follow the van’s tracks and it gave her something to focus on. Increasing her speed a little, she glided along just behind the van.

Wipers on full blast, she peered through the grey until something caught her eye. What the hell is that? The van’s light had popped out and now something was dangling from the hole. Wishing the wipers would speed up, Felicity, headache momentarily forgotten, leaned forward and pressed a little harder on the accelerator.

A hand? Bloody snow. Could it really be a hand? How the hell could a hand be waving it her from the space where the light now dangled?

Then there it was – not just a hand but an entire arm … protruding from the rear light casing, the light dangling on a wire. What the hell was going on? It was like something from a cheesy American car chase movie, or a serial killer movie. Was someone captive in that van or was it some sort of practical joke?

Uncertain what to do, Felicity increased her speed till she was closer to the van in front, mulling through her options as she drove. It couldn’t be a joke. Course not. Why would someone stage a prank like that when the only car around was hers? So, if it wasn’t a joke, then it must be someone’s desperate cry for help. A last resort to attract attention. Whoever the hand belonged to wasn’t doing this for fun, they were desperate.

For the first time, Felicity regretted her decision to take the back roads and follow the van. If whoever was driving it was keeping someone inside against their will, then they must be dangerous. She glanced in her rear-view mirror, praying for the telltale signs of car lights behind her – there were none and she realized that, as she’d driven, the road was getting narrower. Normally she was reasonably familiar with this area, but the darkness and her preoccupied state made her unsure where exactly she was on her route. Then it struck her. Stevie had installed the What3words geocoding app on both their phones telling her it might come in handy someday. Of course, Felicity had scoffed. She had a satnav, who needed a stupid app? Now she was glad of it. She hadn’t put on her satnav and it would take too long to bring it up. She quickly pressed the app and got the three words she needed.

Grabbing her phone from her lap, she dialled 999 and switched to speakerphone.

‘What’s your emergency?’

‘Police. Don’t have time for all the crap. Find my location using these words Buttercup, Red, Triangle. There’s something weird going on in the vehicle in front of me. I suspect an abduction.’

‘Could I take your name …?’

But the van had sped up and was turning off. Felicity threw her phone on the passenger seat and raised her voice so the despatcher could still hear her. ‘I’m following it. A white van. Don’t know what the road’s called but get someone here ASAP. I’ll keep my phone open. I’m a police officer. Get someone here pronto.’

Letting herself lag a little behind the vehicle, whilst still keeping it in her sights, Felicity followed. The hand was still waving about from the rear light. Then it disappeared. A moment later it was back, throwing stuff out the opening, waving. Frantic. The van sped up, and Felicity suspected the driver was aware of what their captive was doing and that they were being followed.

Nausea filled Felicity’s throat, but she swallowed it back. The road was now a track … a bumpy track and it wasn’t helping the sickly feeling. The snow was getting ever heavier, big flakes masking her vision, and Felicity was scared she was going to skid. Who knew if that stupid app worked or if anyone would be able to triangulate her phone data to secure her whereabouts from here? Maybe this had been a bad decision. Pulling herself forward, she peered through the windscreen and, as a darting shadow dived in front of her, she slammed her foot on the brakes. Her phone skittered across the seat and into the footwell as the car careered to the right. The shadow – what looked like a baby deer – disappeared into the foliage to the left. Felicity, heart hammering, wrenched the steering wheel and eased her foot off the brake. With the car in front gaining distance, her car slowly righted itself. She raised her voice, hoping her phone was still connected and would still pick up her voice. ‘We’re on a side road now. Terrain crap, road bumpy. Visibility is poor and the reg number is obscured. The vehicle is speeding up.’

She’d no idea if the responder on the other end of the phone could still hear her, but she kept up her chatter. ‘Just passed a farmhouse … Appletree Farm … series of wind turbines in a field to the right of it.’

The tinny voice from the phone told her the despatcher was speaking and she swallowed, blinking away the tears that sprung to her eyes when she realized that she wasn’t completely alone. Even though the phone was on loudspeaker, the despatcher’s words were distant. The van she was following was about fifty feet ahead of her. She took her eye off it for a second … and reached down, her fingers scrabbling across the carpeted floor. She glanced up, righted the wheel, eased off the accelerator and stretched a little deeper. If she could just find the damn phone, she’d be sure the phone operative could hear her.

Crash!

The judder and bang as she rear-ended the van, propelled her forward and, just as quickly, back when the airbag deployed.

Pinned back against her seat by the weight of the airbag, vision obscured, she blinked. What the hell? She began to push the airbag down, ignoring her breathlessness, just wanting to get out of the vehicle but before she had the chance to move, the door was yanked open and a figure in a balaclava thrust a gun into her car. Felicity looked up at the man, her eyes wide in terror. ‘Please … don’t …’

Bang!

‘Hello … hello? Are you still there …?’ The despatcher’s voice faded.

Chapter 2

Headlights pierced the early morning dark, as the van pulled up outside Bradford Halal Chicken Factory. The men who were bundled on the floor in the back, got to their feet before the doors were yanked open and they were berated by the big hulking bloke the other men called Bullet. Their eyes adjusting to the dawn light and shivering, they stumbled out onto the frosty ground. After being locked up in the dark for the duration of the journey, it was a relief for Stefan Marcovici when the doors opened. The smell of unwashed bodies combined with their cramped positions always panicked him a bit. What if they crashed and the van exploded? What if one day their captors just parked up and didn’t bother to open the doors for them?

The factory lights were on, but they were the first workers to arrive and the car park was empty bar their transport and another car that probably belonged to the night watchman. It was parked next to the huge waste containers that stood next to the roll-down warehouse doors attached to the factory. As they passed Bullet, he pushed each of them, a stupid grin on his face. They trudged on to the next man. Huddled in a huge coat, woollen beanie on his head and a fed-up weed-glazed look on his face, he handed them their lunch: a single paper-thin sandwich with a disgusting paste filling, that clagged up your mouth.

Each day, he arrived at the halal chicken factory, put on white overalls, a plastic apron, hairnet, mask, gloves and wellies and for hour after interminable hour he stood, freezing his balls off, by whatever machine they directed him to, dealing with the cold chicken corpses that moved past him on a conveyor-belt of death. All around him, the machines clanked and jolted, the men chatted and the radio played songs about love and sex, none of which held any importance for him in his current situation.

Over the months Stefan had grown immune to the putrid stench of blood clogging up his nostrils. It had become routine, just part of his day. A huge part of it. A necessary part of it. The section between getting up and going back home to bed. The bit he could measure. The squish of innards and entrails between his gloved fingers, the sound of cartilage and bone cracking beneath his cleaver and the persistent buzz of the fly catcher that hung from the ceiling above him, as he worked, were all just scene setting. Part of the cadence of his daily life.

Some of the men worked shorter shifts than he and his fellow captives – coming in later and leaving earlier. About two hours before the end of his shift, Stefan watched, heavy-hearted and envious, as they left of their own accord with a friendly wave and banter, whilst he and the other faceless people slogged in silence. Sometimes he wondered if it was just one great long nightmare. Months earlier he’d been full of hope, making plans for a future where his entire family joined him and his daughter. A new start away from the threat of the gang he’d betrayed back in Romania. When they’d taken him and Maria to a bank and helped them sign up for an account, he’d been sure everything was legitimate, all above board. Sure, he’d be able to manage his money, pay off his debt to those who’d helped him escape and build a life, but the bastards had confiscated his card and insisted he still had a huge debt to pay off.

Throwing a pile of chicken guts into the plastic waste tubs behind him and wishing it was a brick hitting Bullet’s head, he went through his strategy. For days now he’d been thinking about this and now the day had come, he wanted to make sure everything went to plan. The trigger had been when he’d heard the advert on the radio. At first, he hadn’t understood it. Wondered what it was about. Then, he heard it again and it began to dawn on him. The advert was about people like him and the other men. People kept against their will, unable to escape. People like his daughter being forced to do God knows what.

His captors had told them that nobody cared about the likes of them, but that wasn’t true. The police were advertising it on the radio. They were asking people to contact them. They would help. So, Stefan memorized the number. All he had to do was tell someone what was happening. At first, he’d thought he’d tell one of the other men – the ones who were free to come and go, but he decided against that. They must know what was going on. They just turned a blind eye. Probably glad it wasn’t them. So that wouldn’t work. The more time that passed, the weaker he got, the more poorly some of the other men became, and this fuelled his determination to escape. To escape and to find Maria.

Finally, he realized the easiest way to break free was from the factory. They weren’t watched all the time here. Bullet and his thugs came and went, but there were times during the day when the only supervisors were the factory ones and they didn’t seem quite as threatening. He’d observed the direction the other men’s cars took when they left the car park and reckoned he’d reach civilization at some point if he just got out, turned left and kept on running.

Stefan waited, nervous and scared. This could all go badly wrong, but it might be his only chance. Eventually he sloped off to the loading area by way of the toilets. Creeping slowly forward, he craned his head to either side. He could see two of the big truck drivers off to one side, smoking and chatting. If he sidled out and used their truck for cover, he could get outside. Quick as a flash, he nipped back into the toilets, stripped off the white protective covering that would draw attention on the street, shoved it onto a bin and retraced his steps to the loading bay. The men were still laughing and smoking – looking at something on their phones. Heart pounding, he took a deep breath and darted over to the truck before edging forward. He listened, but all he could hear was the regular sounds of the factory machines and the occasional shout from the men. Taking his chance, he darted to the side, using the factory wall as cover and sidled over to the bushes that lined the edge of the car park. Crouching behind them, he made his way to the main road and then took to his heels running as fast as he could along a pavement lined with car parks assigned to other huge factory buildings. He was in an industrial estate. He accelerated, the cold air catching in his chest, but adrenaline made him fly. He followed the road round and saw a main street. There was a bus stop a few yards ahead and he wished he’d had the foresight to steal some money. He kept moving past it. The scent of freedom beckoning, making him smile.

Chapter 3

DS Nikita Parekh, shoulders hunched against the driving sleet, bounced on the balls of her feet as she waited in the no man’s land between the outer and inner cordons of the crime scene. Concentrating, she watched the CSIs processed the scene. The weather made it imperative that they work with speed and so they’d quickly banished any unnecessary personnel from the inner cordon and this included Nikki and her team. Not used to standing about, Nikki, Tyvek suit over her leather jacket, crime scene bootees over her boots, was doing her best to absorb what she could see of the crime scene.

The CSIs had already set up spotlights, but under orders from Gracie Fells, the head CSI, in order to make sure the heat they generated didn’t compromise the crime scene, the lights had been placed at the very edge of the cordon. This lack of direct light made picking up on the details a little more difficult for Nikki. The CSIs – amorphous gender-neutral figures in their white bulky suits – held torches as they worked. The car, a red Kia Sportage, was slewed halfway across the narrow road, its front end squashed, the driver’s door hanging open to reveal the empty seat. Not so classy now. Blood had turned the slush a rusty colour and as she watched, the CSIs were frantically trying to gather evidence as they took photos and scooped up spattered matter.

Other figures focused on the tracks that were beyond the Kia. The vehicle the car had crashed into was absent, and harvesting track marks and footprints was a race against the elements. Nikki itched to get in there and make her own analysis, talk to the CSIs, get a real feel for the scene. Already the memory of the resigned but annoyed atmosphere that had descended on her family, when she’d grabbed her jacket and headed for the door, was fading – almost, but not quite. It was a year since her daughter had been abducted and she and her partner Marcus had nearly lost their lives; still, every time she was called away from a family gathering, the memory of that horrific time was triggered for all of them. But this is my job! Her justification didn’t always sit too well with her family, but they had to be aware that she’d been trying her best. Charlie knew first-hand how important her job was … didn’t she? Trying really hard to be more present in their lives, more giving of her time … that, she decided, just had to make up for her dashing off halfway through the Sunday dinner that Marcus had so painstakingly cooked. But as the guilt soaked in, she realized that was just part and parcel of having to balance two sets of responsibilities.

Resolutely, she pulled her thoughts away from the kids’ disappointed and slightly worried faces and back to the scene before her. The presence of blood with the absence of a body combined with the car owner’s frantic call to emergency services was chilling. What the hell had she seen? A hand through the back light of the vehicle in front? One that she was unable to give a registration number for. One that she had only described as a white van. Nikki hoped the CSIs could work their magic on the rapidly melting slush … CCTV was non-existent in these back roads and besides, they meandered for miles, criss-crossing other roads and back roads. Who knew when the reported van would hit mainstream roads again, if ever? There were so many snickets, hidden roads and premises around this area, the van could be holed up in any number of locations waiting for them to divert their searches elsewhere. Their only other option would be a police appeal for a white vehicle, but with the lack of a better description, they’d be inundated with a raft of pointless sightings. What made it worse was that Nikki was acquainted with the woman who’d made the phone call … It had become personal for West Yorkshire police and, whether she could stand the woman herself didn’t matter, she was one of theirs and that counted for something. Cupping her cold fingers round her mouth, Nikki blew into them, trying to ease the numbness in her joints and simultaneously stamped from foot to foot. Springer had made her life hell for a while the previous year, but that didn’t stop Nikki feeling sorry for her now. Springer had clearly been taken by whoever was in the van she’d been pursuing and who knew what state she’d be in. Nikki wasn’t used to standing idle at a crime scene and her patience was wearing thin. The sooner they got a look at the scene the sooner they could crack on with finding Springer.

The weight of a hefty elbow nudging her as she watched, had Nikki spinning round, arms already up to shove back when she realized it was her DC, Sajid Malik. ‘For goodness’ sake, Saj. What the hell are you playing at?’

Beyond him, in the lane, Nikki could see he’d parked up his Jag, but had had the good sense to turn it round so it was facing back the way they’d come. The crime scene had prevented through traffic in order to preserve any evidence left by the departing van and as more and more officers came to the scene, the chances of Nikki being able to spin her old Zafira round was getting slimmer. Sajid carried a Tyvek suit, which he was shaking out, ready to put on. He grinned at her and Nikki’s scowl deepened. Of course, he’d had the sense to wear a winter coat and … was that a bloody polo neck? A shiver ran through her. She almost wished she could rip the damn jumper off him and put it on. As the thought crossed her mind, her fingers lifted to the rough scar on her neck and she shuddered. The last thing she would do was wear a polo. Too damn suffocating; a scarf, even loosely draped was bad enough but the very idea of her neck being enclosed was claustrophobic. Her own Tyvek suit offered little warmth in addition to her leather jacket and she had the distinct feeling of dampness in her socks – had her DMs finally given up the ghost and developed a hole in the sole? Just what she needed right now when the leak in her car still wasn’t sorted. ‘Wish they’d hurry up. I need to get in there.’

Ignoring her tetchy tone, Sajid pulled his suit up over his jeans, tucked his – probably cashmere – coat in and inserted his arms in the sleeve. ‘Heard it’s Springer.’

Nikki nodded. ‘Yep. The call came in from Springer. Seems like she was on her way back from that Community Liaison Conference in Wakefield and took a detour to avoid traffic …’

Sajid moved closer to the demarcation tape, eyes scanning the scene. ‘That blood by the driver’s door’s a bit ominous.’

‘You don’t say.’ Nikki’s tone was snippy. Saj was only articulating what she’d been thinking, but it irked her. She was cold, pissed off and eager to get on. ‘Blood, yes, but the fact that she’s been removed from the scene might be a good thing. The fact they’ve taken her might mean she’s still alive.’ Well, that’s what Nikki hoped anyway.

‘What do you make of her saying she saw a hand and then an arm sticking out from the taillight?’

‘Don’t know … but the fact that she’s been lifted makes that seem even more ominous.’ Wrapping her arms round her upper body, Nikki focused her gaze on the scene, ignoring the glance Saj sent in her direction. There was no love lost between her and The Spaniel, but that wouldn’t stop her doing her best to find her.

A commotion near the outer cordon had both her and Saj spinning round.

Voice low, Saj exhaled. ‘Shit, it must be bad if Archie’s here.’

Nikki moved forward to meet her boss. DCI Archie Hegley was a large man, with a brusque Scottish tone and right now, his bulbous face was bright red and his breath came in quick pants sending off little puffs of vapour as he thudded over. ‘Parekh, this is a bloody mind fuck. Right got ma proverbials in a lather, this has. Now, I ken you dinnae get on with Springer, but you need to put that behind you. We’ve got to find her … find out what the hell is going on.’

Oh yeah … I’m just supposed to forget that she accused me of killing my husband, as if all she did was swipe a sweet from me. She snorted but on seeing Archie’s glare, tried to turn it into a cough. ‘Yes, sir. Course, sir’.

She lowered her head. She’d heard the tape of Springer’s call to the emergency switchboard and although she disliked the woman, she could clearly hear her puzzlement at what she was seeing. Nikki gave her bonus points for following the vehicle. It’s exactly what she would have done herself, yet she would have put money on it that Springer would have pulled into the side of the road and waited for back-up. Maybe the woman wasn’t quite as much of an arse as Nikki thought she was.

Archie was speaking again, his voice loud, harsh against the mumbles of the CSIs working the screen, causing them to look over. ‘Get to get to the bottom of this, Parekh. Right! They not done yet?’ He glowered over the inner cordon tape and Nikki thought for a moment that he was going to burst through the tape. Instead, he took a step back and exhaled. His entire body seemed to deflate like a burst balloon. He raked his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat. ‘Did something awful tae her at the weekend at the conference.’

Nikki and Sajid exchanged glances and waited. What the hell could he have done that was so bad? Archie Hegley was a straight shooter, but he was fair. Not often he was nasty for the sake of being nasty. Nikki nudged Saj and nodded towards their boss. Saj was better at dealing with the emotions side of stuff. With an exaggerated, but silent sigh, Saj shook his head and stepped forward. ‘Weren’t you leading one of the sessions, sir?’

‘Yep, that I was, Malik … that I was.’ He glanced up, his eyes lasering Sajid. Nikki shuffled her feet in the snow, feeling more dampness soak into her socks.

‘I was a bastard to that woman. Told her she needed tae show a bit of guts.’ His gaze moved from Sajid to Nikki. ‘Told her she needed tae be a bit mair like you.’

Ah! Nikki got it. Archie was wondering if Springer had only followed the van because of his harsh words … inside Nikki wondered if he was right. Had his casting her up to Springer been what had sent her off acting unpredictably? Voice calm, she looked at Archie. ‘Well, we’ll just have to find Springer then, won’t we?’

‘Felicity … that’s her name. Felicity!’

Felicity? She hadn’t known that. She’d never really thought of her as having a first name. Of course, she knew she must have, everyone did, but Nikki just hadn’t given it any thought and if she had, she’d have thought it might be something tough like Hilda or Eva – as in Braun or maybe like the big boss, who was cold to the point of iceberg.

She held her boss’s stare until they were interrupted by a yell from Fells. ‘Right, you lot. We’ve done all we can for now. Get your freezing arses over here and we’ll walk you through what we’ve got. Stick to the treads though.’

Yanking her gaze away from Archie’s, Nikki smiled a tight smile and squeezed his arm once. ‘Get back to Trafalgar House and get things sorted at that end, boss. Saj and I have this.’

‘Yeah, I’ve ordered the police helicopter out. It’ll be up soon and maybe they’ll find something.’ Pausing, he bit his lip. ‘Soon as yer done here, Parekh, I want you wi’ me when I speak tae her family.’

Family? The Spaniel? Really? Nikki bit her lip as shame washed over her. The woman had been abducted, was clearly injured, possibly dead and she was behaving like a witch. ‘Better if Saj goes with you, Archie. He’s more … you know … touchy-feely than me.’

She ignored her partner’s mumbled, ‘That wouldn’t be hard.’

‘Not that I couldn’t do it, you know, but …’

Archie cut her off. ‘I asked you, damn it, Parekh. For once in your bloody life just do as yer told, will you?’ and not waiting for her response he stormed off, coat wafting behind him in the slight breeze that had started.

When Saj snorted, Nikki rammed her elbow into his side. ‘Shut up … just shut up.’

She watched Archie trundle back to his vehicle, before ducking under the tape with Saj to approach Gracie Fells, who was standing beside Springer’s car. As soon as Nikki crouched to peer inside the vehicle, she could smell the lingering cordite in the air and her eyes were drawn to the driver’s seat. She flicked a glance at the CSI. ‘Gunshot?’

The CSI nodded. ‘Yes, difficult to estimate where she was hit because of the impact, but if she was sitting upright in the seat, chances are, it went straight through her chest or possibly her shoulder.’

Neither option was ideal, but if it had hit her shoulder, she might still be alive. The question was, how long would her abductors want to keep an injured woman alive? And if they dumped her in this weather, even if she was alive, the chances of her staying that way for long, were next to zero. ‘What did you find inside the car?’

‘Her phone was in the footwell of the passenger seat.’

That tallied with Nikki’s estimation of the recorded phone call. Springer seemed to somehow have lost her phone although thankfully it was on speakerphone so, although faint, they managed to pick up what she was saying.

‘Her bag’s in there too. Doesn’t look like it’s been rifled. A whole load of used tissues – more like she’d been crying than that she had a cold. We’ll find out when we get them back to the lab … not that her crying will necessarily have anything to do with what happened to her.’ The CSI moved back and pointed to the bloody slush. ‘She was dragged out of the vehicle. Blood trace on the car and onto the road. Difficult, because of the snow, to gauge exactly how much blood loss. Looks like they moved her to a larger vehicle – some sort of transit van, I reckon, judging by the car tracks. We’ll narrow that down when we get the casts back to the lab. But, if she saw a hand waving through the back lights, I’d reckon it was probably one of those ones you can borrow from any company, like Enterprise or the like. Those have an enclosed back and the doors open at the rear.’

‘That’s not going to make it any easier. We’ll have to check out van rental companies in the district as well as owners. Sooner you can get the make and model narrowed down the better.’

Ignoring Gracie’s annoyed tut, Nikki studied the rest of the scene as the CSI continued. ‘You can see blood drops and smears as her feet are pulled through the slush, then it looks like she was put into the back of the van. The vehicle skidded as it set off making these tread marks too blurry to cast effectively, however, one of my team got some better prints twenty yards down there.’

Nikki’s phone buzzed. She took it out and saw it was a text from Archie. Opening it she frowned. What the hell? Saj, who’d completed a circuit around the Kia, re-joined her. ‘You okay, Nik? Bad news?’

Nikki flicked her phone shut and smiled. ‘No, nothing like that. Just Marcus griping because I missed Sunday dinner,’ she lied.

Seeing that Saj looked sceptical, Nikki turned and perused the rest of the scene. She’d deal with Archie’s weird text later. Trying to replay what had happened, she cast her mind back to the recorded conversation she’d listened to numerous times on the drive to the scene. Seemed like Springer had a near-miss seconds before the final crash. The recording had clearly picked up the impact of the two vehicles. Now, seeing the scrunched-up front end of Springer’s car, it was clear that Springer had rammed the vehicle in front. Had she done it to try to stop them? If so, that was madness. On the other hand, had she been trying to retrieve her phone and not noticed that the van had stopped? Or there was another option that seemed more likely, for it was what Nikki would have done if she’d been the van driver. She’d have slowed imperceptibly, waited till Springer’s car was close and then slammed on her brakes, so the smaller vehicle would hit the larger one, engaging the airbags and disorientating the driver. Stupid woman hadn’t thought about how conspicuous she would be on these roads on a night like this. What the hell had possessed her to go rogue? Archie’s words rang in Nikki’s ears … was she to blame? Had Archie’s taunt about her needing to be more like Nikki, been what sent her into danger? Fuck! Springer was ill-prepared for any sort of fresh case. She dealt with cold cases … victims long dead … a desk jockey, who didn’t see a lot of active duty. Idiot! She should have waited for the damn back-up. Someone had been in the back of that vehicle … Springer had seen a hand and then an arm protruding from the taillight – someone trying to attract attention … someone who wanted to escape.

If she’d been driving a van with a prisoner of some description in the back and someone on her tail, she’d have waited till they were in an isolated space and done exactly what they did. Brake hard, hope for an impact, but not been totally reliant on that alone – quick out of the van, run to the car before the driver had the chance to get orientated, yank it open. That was it – maybe … ‘Fingerprints on the handle?’

The CSI winked. ‘Doing my job for me now, are you?’

‘Take it that’s a no?’

‘Gloves probably, only picked up smudged prints.’

Nikki let out a half-laugh. ‘Ha! Well, worth a try.’

Sajid followed the tracks a little down the road and stood talking to one of the CSIs.

Nikki turned to Gracie and, voice low, said, ‘You manage to get blood samples?’

‘Yeah, course we did.’

Glancing down to make sure Saj was still out of earshot, Nikki continued. ‘Orders from above, get it tested for these.’ She turned her phone so Gracie could see Archie’s text. ‘Keep it on the QT, eh? Results for my eyes only, okay?’

Gracie glanced at Saj who was striding back, blowing on his hands as he surveyed the area around the crash, and nodded. ‘Very mysterious, but you got it. Your eyes only … very 007.’ And she began humming the theme tune.

Nikki scowled; now she’d be humming the damn tune too for the rest of the day, no doubt.

Saj glanced at the CSI’s departing back with a quizzical expression. ‘Something you’re not telling me, Nik?’

‘Loads … but I didn’t think you’d be interested in my sex life.’

Saj snorted, and catching her eye, waited before speaking. ‘Really? You’re going with that?’

With a shrug, Nikki grinned. ‘Can’t share everything with you, now can I?’

‘Yeah, but if it’s to do with the investigation then you should, yeah?’

Nikki mentally cursed Archie. Why the hell the secrecy? She wasn’t used to not sharing things with Saj. He was her partner and she trusted him, but Archie was her boss and she trusted him too. Feeling like a shit, she shrugged. ‘Don’t know what you mean. You know what I know.’

‘Okay. If that’s how you’re playing it. Nothing else for us to do here and it’s bloody freezing. Let’s head back … see if we’ve been lucky. Maybe someone else saw something odd. Maybe a van with a dented rear end has been spotted on one of the feeder roads.’

Sighing, Nikki nodded and did a slow circle of the scene. How the hell would Springer survive this? They just had to hope she’d been alive when they took her, but who knew what condition she would be in now. ‘Yep, right, let’s go.’

As they walked together to their vehicles the faint sounds of a helicopter approaching got louder and both Nikki and Sajid placed their hands on their foreheads and followed its progress. ‘Hope they have some luck.’ Her tone betrayed her lack of conviction and once she’d shrugged out of her overalls and got into the car, Nikki waved bye to Sajid, who was already driving down the snowy lane. She flicked her key in the ignition, only to hear a grating sound. Great! Damn battery was dead. She slammed the heel of her hands on the steering wheel and screeched. If there was one thing Nikki hated, it was to ask for help with her car. Stepping back out onto the wet road, she glared at the young PC who approached carrying a set of jump leads and a huge smile. She glowered at him. ‘Just get it started and if this gets round Trafalgar House, I’ll know whose guts to add to my garters, right?’

Chapter 4

Running along parallel to the industrial estate, the only sounds Stefan could hear were the wind, the sound of his own breathing and the occasional swoosh of cars as they passed him, their beams lighting up the path in front of him. After the third car passed him, stirring up a flurry of slush and drenched his thin trackie bottoms in the process, Stefan realized he was too visible on the main road. He should have stuck to the periphery of the estate where shadows and bushes offered some cover from any would-be pursuers. He’d just changed direction to head back into the estate via a gap in some bushes when he heard the sound of a larger vehicle approaching. The hairs on the back of his neck sprung up and he dived flat onto his belly. He had no idea if they were after him or not yet, but he couldn’t help feeling on edge. From his prone position on the grass he eyed the van as it neared. It was a white transit and it was driving more slowly than the weather conditions necessitated. Stefan held his breath, praying they wouldn’t see him and, when they continued past the spot where he lay, he exhaled slowly. He was sure it was Bullet and he was equally sure he was looking for him, so it was just as well he’d decided to head back into the estate. How the hell had they been alerted to his absence so quickly? Then he puzzled it out. One of the men he worked beside, slept beside, was a snitch.

He’d just decided that he could risk moving when he heard the sound of a vehicle revving up and sure enough the white transit was revving backwards. In a panic, Stefan crawled over to the gap in the bushes and slid through. He’d just re-entered the estate when he heard the van doors open, followed by frenetic barking and Bullet’s guttural tone breaking through the night.

‘Go get him, boys.’

Shit, they’d brought the bloody dogs. Legs pounding, Stefan tore between buildings looking for some way to escape, the barks and growls growing nearer as he ran. Finally, he saw a huge industrial bin and, wondering if he was sealing his fate, but having no other choice, he pulled himself up, slid the rolling lid back and dropped in on top of a pile of cardboard boxes. After closing the lid, he burrowed to the bottom of the bin, covering himself with layers of cardboard and once more prayed the dogs would lose his scent.

Sounds from outside were muffled and it was difficult to decide if his pursuers were coming any closer or not. He could hear barking and yelling, but it was distorted. The heat generated by the cardboard warmed Stefan up slowly and he began to think that his safest bet was to remain here till the dead of night and then make another bid for freedom. He could catch some sleep and he’d be dry and warm. He smiled. The mere thought of not having to move for a few hours, not having to listen to other peoples’ bodily functions, not having to smell the great unwashed, was like a gift to him. He sighed, reassured by the silence that had descended outside.

A sharp rat-a-tat-tat somewhere near his head shattered his reassurance. Someone was out there banging on the side of the bin. Stefan held his breath and his body stiffened. Maybe it was one of the workers out for a smoke. He strained his ears. He couldn’t hear anything else – no dogs, no voices. Maybe whoever it was had gone.

Then it came – a coarse singsong whisper penetrating the plastic bin – taunting and at the same time chilling him. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are.’

This was followed by ferocious yelping and Stefan knew the game was up. The lid was thrown back and a bright torch shone into the inside. In a last-ditch attempt, Stefan remained still and silent, but it was no good. Whoever shone the torch followed that by pushing a long prod through the layers of cardboard. When it connected with his body, Stefan braced himself not to react, then the electric current from the Taser had him yelping in pain as his entire body shook for a moment and then became numb. Seconds later, two of Bullet’s henchmen dragged him from the bin and flung him in a heap on the wet ground. The dogs salivating and over-excited pranced and jumped close to him, taking the odd nipping bite before they were yanked back by their owners.

‘Oh dear. This makes me very sad, you know. It also makes my boss very sad.’ Bullet tilted his head to one side and laughed. ‘Actually, it doesn’t make him sad so much as angry.’

He waved his phone in the air. ‘He told me to hit you where it hurts and boy, am I going to enjoy doing that.’ He gestured to his thugs who dragged Stefan, feet trailing through the deserted industrial estate to where the transit van waited. As they flung him in and slammed the door shut, Stefan was glad that he was the only one to be punished. He couldn’t bear it if Maria had to suffer any more at the hands of these brutes.

Chapter 5

It had taken Xavier over an hour to drive to the old farmhouse in the middle of the moors and it was only courtesy of his police scanner that he’d been able to avoid the patrol cars and the crime scene itself. He took a moment to get in character. His code name, Xavier, made him feel quite sophisticated. Xavier in the X-Men was a visionary … an intellectual … a leader – all the qualities he himself rated highly. He allowed himself a grin as he acknowledged that his aims were more in line with Magneto’s than Xavier’s. It amused him to subvert the idea of a superhero; after all, heroes were all in the eyes of their beholders, weren’t they?

Looking through the windscreen at the snow-covered yard, Xavier’s good humour dissipated a little. The weekend had started off fine … in fact, until this morning, it had been great. The Community Liaison Conference had been amusing. He’d been asked to speak at the session on modern-day slavery and that had given him a buzz. All those people from social services, policing, education, local government, politicians and the like hanging onto his every word. Then there was his down time … that had been satisfying, or rather she’d been satisfying.

When the phone call came, his rage had clouded his mind for a moment. Bloody Stefan Marcovici! Xavier made a point of not knowing their names – too bloody many of them to remember anyway – but Stefan Marcovici had become a risk to the entire operation and so Xavier had to sanction drastic action. That in itself didn’t bother him. No, what bothered him was that he’d not been there to witness it, but Cyclops, his right-hand man was right. Bullet and his cronies could deal with it. In fact, they’d enjoy it. Besides which, he needed to distance himself from this and just as well, because now he had these two fools and their mess to deal with and that was on top of the existing problem of Adam Glass’s betrayal. Seemed like trouble did come in threes, but by the end of the night his minions would have cleaned it all up and it would be back to business as usual.

The one sensible thing the idiots had managed since picking up the bint who was following them, was to get as far away from the scene as possible and head for safe house number two. Why they’d shot her, he didn’t know, and why they’d decided it was best to throw her in the back of the van and cart her here was beyond him. That’s what comes when you have to rely on lowlifes. He inhaled deeply and took a moment, releasing his breath slowly.

Now that he’d switched off his headlights, the only light source was the moon and the few stars visible between the snow-heavy clouds. It was like some dystopian wilderness and that was just what he wanted; silence with no nosey parkers around to meddle.

No sign of the van, so they must have hidden it in one of the outbuildings. Smart move. Not that there were many passers-by, but best to be safe. They’d done well, he supposed, to black-out the windows. No light escaped from the sides and the gas heaters they’d transported up weeks ago negated the need for an open fire and the subsequent telltale smoke. To the casual eye, the building and outbuildings looked deserted, just as they should. He’d chosen this old house because of its location. Far enough from the touristy moorland walks, yet not so far that he couldn’t have the goods transported to anywhere in the district in record time. His men had been trained to be on the lookout for over-curious nosey parkers and as per his instructions, none of his deserted properties were used to store his assets for more than a few weeks at a time.

He employed a random rotation model that had served him well: neither his rivals nor the authorities had shown any interest in his doings so far. He smiled. Even if they had, he was so far removed from the dirty end of things that nothing could be traced back to him. Even the goons inside were unaware of his true identity and that was the way he intended to keep it. What was it they called it? Plausible deniability?

Before exiting his ‘borrowed’ vehicle, he got his game face on. Well, actually it was a balaclava, but it served the same purpose. He wasn’t exactly pissed off by what had happened today. Other than a minor inconvenience for himself and the waste of a Sunday afternoon that could have been better spent screwing his mistress, it was mere irritation, but combined with the other stuff, it niggled. Not because he personally felt under threat – he was secure in the knowledge that nothing could end up at his doorstep – but because he hated incompetence, hated needless complications. In his experience, complications left to their own devices could unravel and that’s why he’d elected to come here himself. If he couldn’t deal with Marcovici, he could deal with this cock-up … make sure it was tied up with no loose threads.

However, he had a role to play and play it he must. The fact that he enjoyed taking on a bullying persona was just an added bonus. He stepped out of the vehicle into a couple of inches of snow, glad that he’d changed his clothes before heading off here. Even without the snow, none of his premises were what you’d call muck-free and as he found himself up to his ankles in mucky slush, he grimaced before heading to the door and rapping three times.

The door opened a crack to reveal a wide-eyed Danny Boy. Immediately the door opened all the way to allow him access. ‘Hi, boss.’

The lad’s tone was high pitched and the way his pistol shook, despite being pointed at the ground, betrayed his nervousness. The X-Man smiled. It was always good to keep them on edge. No point in letting them get complacent. They needed to know exactly who was boss. He grunted and brushed past the lad making his way into the dimly lit living room where Danny Boy’s brother, Jason was huddled on a rickety wooden chair in front of the heater. Jason jumped to his feet as soon as the door opened, casting a nervous glance at his brother.

The two of them were fairly new recruits and this was their first solo job. The fact that it had gone so awry was clearly making them antsy and Xavier intended to capitalize on that. ‘Tell me!’

As Xavier grabbed the chair, whipped it round and straddled it backwards, Danny shuffled over next to his brother. ‘We picked up the package like we were supposed to and were heading to the safe house to await further instructions. Then Jase noticed we were being followed, like. She kept coming up close and then lagging behind and then right up close again. She were on her phone and …’

‘You panicked?’

Relief flooded Jason’s face as he nodded.

Keeping his tone conversational, Xavier inclined his head slightly to one side. ‘And do I pay you to panic?’

Again, the boys exchanged worried glances and Xavier had to swallow a chuckle. This was such fun. He hardened his tone. ‘Then what happened?’

Words splurged out of Jason’s mouth like diarrhoea in a shithouse. ‘We braked really hard and she rammed into the back of us and Danny got out of the van and shot her. But she wun’t dead and then we saw that the package had punched out the back light.’ He gulped in a breath before continuing. ‘And so we shoved her in the back with him and kicked him a few times till he conked out. Then we came here instead of the first safe house.’

‘Why did you do that?’ Xavier jumped to his feet, his body full of bristling anger as he paced the room, nervous energy zapping off him like thunderbolts as he moved. The two idiots in front of him had no idea what to tell him … no idea at all. That’s what happened when you relied on inexperienced yokels. They made mistakes and then had no idea how to rectify them, so instead they compounded them.

‘What possessed you to bring her with you?’

Danny Boy bit his lip, like a 2-year-old. ‘Thought she might talk otherwise? Thought it best to keep her close, like.’

Give me strength. ‘And who is she?’

This time the colour drained from Danny’s face and Xavier thought he was going to be sick, so he looked at Jason. ‘Well?’

Jason blinked. ‘Dunno.’

Lowering his voice till it was barely a whisper, Xavier, punctuated each word with a pause. ‘You … don’t … know?’

Both men shook their heads and Xavier jumped to his feet, sending the chair toppling across the floor and began pacing. They’d had one simple transportation job to do. Not rocket science, not complex, not requiring more than a half-functioning brain and yet still they’d messed up. Messed up big time. Okay, so it wasn’t disastrous, but they didn’t know that. They had to be taught a lesson. Mistakes could be fatal and they needed to learn not to make any more. He stopped pacing and spun round to glare at them. The younger one backed up a step, glancing at his brother, looking for guidance.

‘It’s stupidity that gets us into this sort of mess. Things have been under the wire and I’d intended to keep it that way until we had full control. Now you imbeciles have scuppered that. Now we have to react and if there’s one thing I hate doing it’s reacting. Reacting implies a lack of control. Reacting adds variables over which we have no control.’

He glared at the vacant looks on the boys’ faces. Before this day was over, they would no longer be reacting, they would have learned their lesson … the hard way.

Xavier kicked the toppled chair and it crashed against the wall, making the brothers jump. ‘Take me to them.’

It was almost comical the way they scampered to the door, in their willingness to please. ‘They’re in the van in the barn.’

Xavier smiled. He’d already decided that they needed to dispose of Glass, after all it was his stupidity in trying to escape that had landed them here in the first place. Now that they’d got the bank account codes off him there was no need to keep him alive. How he’d had the gall to syphon money from his deals, Xavier couldn’t understand. The idiot would pay dearly for trying to cheat him, but perhaps nature would have done its job and the cheat may have frozen to death. That still left the problem of the woman … but hell … they’d just have to dump the bodies separately.

Using torches, the three men made their way through a fine drizzle of rain to the ramshackle old barn. Xavier was pleased to see that despite the isolated location, they’d still padlocked the doors shut. Maybe they weren’t quite as useless as he’d first thought. Perhaps he’d give them the benefit of the doubt this time. After all, he, Xavier, was nothing if not merciful and help was hard to come by these days.

Danny Boy opened the back door and Xavier jumped up. His torch danced over the male body sprawled near to the door.

‘What you waiting for? Get the fuck up here. Find out if he’s still with us. Then get the body disposed of. Get a move on.’

Jason jumped up. ‘Yes, boss.’

‘He dead?’ Xavier’s tone was hopeful.

Jason went over and held two fingers on the man’s neck, before looking up at his boss, shaking his head. ‘Nope, still alive.’

Ah well, that wouldn’t last. Xavier turned to the other figure, his torch dancing over her face taking in her blood-soaked coat and blouse, the paleness of her face. Shit! It’s her! Would you fucking believe it? ‘She’s a pig, you idiots.’

Jason placed his fingers on her neck, then looked up, all colour wiped from his face. ‘Aw crap, boss. She’s a dead pig.’

Dumping the body of a lowlife was one thing but killing a police officer and then disposing of her was another. Xavier didn’t feel quite as generous towards his two goons, now that he saw the extent of the mess they’d created. But he had more to worry about … much more. He couldn’t be sure that there was no forensic link back to him. The last thing he needed was to be drawn into the investigation of a murdered police officer and held up to any sort of public scrutiny. Not when he had a family and a legitimate job as well as his other sidelines to consider. ‘You got a spot in mind?’

‘Leave that to me and Jase. We’ve got the dump spot all sorted, like. We won’t let you down. Not again.’

‘They both need to be disposed of. But separately. She needs to be dumped where she won’t be found for months – the middle of the moors or somewhere. And him …’ Xavier kicked the prone man. ‘Finish him. And make sure you use the usual forensic measures – yeah?’

‘Eh?’ Jason looked puzzled, but his brother nudged him and said, ‘Bleach, ya tosser. Bleach.’

‘Okay, I’m counting on you. Get on with it.’

Chapter 6

By the time Nikki, with the help of the young police officer, had coaxed her Vauxhall Zafira back to life at the crime scene and managed to set off back to Trafalgar House, it was getting dark and although the snow had stopped, the clouds still looked heavy with the promise of more to come. In truth, whilst the young lad had got out the jump leads Nikki always kept in her boot for such emergencies, and managed to manoeuvre a patrol car into position that allowed the leads to reach both vehicles, Nikki was on the phone barking instructions to the officer Archie had commandeered to oversee things till Nikki and Sajid got back. She was more than capable of jump-starting her car. She’d had to do it on numerous occasions recently and was now seriously considering bumping the purchase of a new car battery higher up her priority shopping list than new DMs for herself. Damn car! Her hands were freezing, her toes were numb, and she was better employed sitting in her marginally warmer car organizing things than fannying about in the slush getting colder. Besides, as her car engine sputtered to life, the officer, unlike herself, was dressed for the weather. She gave him a thumbs-up as she backed down the narrow lane, and stopping when she drew level with him, she wound down her window. ‘Remember, no telling DC Malik about this, okay?’

As the grinning officer shook his head, Nikki frowned. ‘In fact, no telling anybody, yeah?’

‘Lips are sealed, Detective, lips are sealed.’

Satisfied, Nikki nodded put her window back up and, wishing that her vehicle would choose today to spontaneously burst heat from its contrary fan, set off.

By the time she reached the station, the promised snow had started again and Nikki was glad she’d missed driving in it. Entering the Trafalgar House car park, she was pleased to note the absence of the media. Last thing they needed was this leaking before they had a chance to speak to Springer’s next of kin. She ran up the steps to the officers’ entrance at the back of the station and jogged up to the incident room, bursting through the door, causing it to bang against the wall and rebound back almost hitting her in the face. Dodging it, she moved into the room and cast her eyes round. Apart from Sajid, a couple of uniformed officers momentarily looked up from their computers at her entrance. Otherwise the room was deserted. Everybody else was either at home or out following up the limited leads they had on Springer.

‘Ah, you’re back.’ Sajid, alerted by her dramatic entrance, turned around from the crime board he was creating. At the top he’d scrawled, ‘DS Felicity Springer’ and underneath ‘Abducted/Missing?’ ‘Was beginning to wonder if that chunk of metal you call a car had finally given up on you.’

Hoping that the officer who’d helped her would keep his side of the bargain, Nikki tutted. ‘Oh, ye of little faith. Course it didn’t let me down. Pure gold, that car.’

Ignoring Sajid’s disbelieving snort, she bent down, undid her DMs and peeled off her sodden socks before swiping a discarded newspaper from one of the cluttered desks. Scrunching it up, she stuffed pages of it into her boots and then placed them and her socks onto the heater.

‘Fire risk.’

Nikki raised her middle finger at her colleague and glanced round. ‘Archie?’

Sajid tilted his head towards Archie’s office. ‘In there.’

Nikki began to march towards it, but Sajid’s next words stopped her in her tracks. ‘Wouldn’t go in. He’s not alone and he’s not a happy bunny.’

‘Oh? Who’s he with?’

‘The big boss.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Something’s going on, Nik and whatever it is, it’s serious. You should’ve seen Archie. I thought he was going to explode.’

Nikki looked at the blinds that now obscured whatever was going on inside the room. That was strange in itself. Archie rarely lowered the blinds, preferring an open-door policy, or, as Nikki suspected, he really liked to keep an eye on what was going on in the office. Archie had been acting strangely all day. Agitated and off-kilter. Then, of course, there was that really strange and secretive request he’d made. Now he was ensconced in his office with the big boss, blinds closed. Detective Chief Superintendent Eva Clark was pretty much a hands-off boss. If she wanted to see Archie, she’d normally request his presence upstairs in her office, so what had prompted her to come down here? What the hell’s going on? ‘How long they been in there?’

‘She arrived just as I got back.’

Nikki exhaled and then walked over to stand beside Saj. ‘Okay, let’s deal with the Archie situation later. We need to focus on Springer. Did we get some officers sent over to interview the hotel staff? We can’t rule out that it may have been a planned and targeted attack.’

‘Yep, I asked them to grab any CCTV footage they could, just to be sure. Everything from Friday afternoon through to ten o’clock this morning, when the conference officially ended.’ Sajid frowned.

Nikki knew her partner well enough to sense his discomfort. ‘Spit it out then.’

‘It’s just, apparently someone else already requested copies of the hotel’s CCTV of the conference.’ He paused. ‘All of it.’

Nikki shrugged. ‘No big deal. As long as we’ve got it, that’s fine. Maybe Archie was on the ball and requested it.’

Saj nodded. ‘Yeah. It was Archie who requested it.’

Nikki nudged his arm. ‘There then. No big mystery.’

‘Well, that’s just it, Nik. Archie made the request at 10.47 a.m.’

As his words sunk in, Nikki exhaled. She pulled out a chair and sank into it. ‘You sure?’

‘Yep. I even phoned the hotel myself to double check.’

‘Shit! What’s going on?’

‘No idea, but it’s damn weird that Archie put in that request almost an hour before we got the call from Springer.’

Nikki agreed. This was strange and if she and Saj were to be able to do their job, Archie needed to start sharing with them. There was something off about all of this and Nikki needed to get to the bottom of it. She cast another impatient glance at Archie’s office and for a second considered barging in then and there and demanding to be told exactly what was going on. Fortunately, good sense prevailed and instead she focused on the task in hand. She’d deal with Archie later. ‘Have we got a copy?’

When Saj nodded she said, ‘Well, let’s at least have a look at Springer leaving the hotel. We can start following her journey from the hotel to when she disappeared.’

They huddled over the computer with the largest screen and Saj fiddled to get the recording to the right spot. ‘She signed out at 9.57 a.m., so here’s the footage of the front entrance and hotel car park from eight-thirty.’

They fast-forwarded the recording, keeping an eye out for any transit vans or anything else that stood out. At one minute to ten, Felicity Springer exited the hotel, pulling a trolley case behind her.

‘Pause it and zoom in.’ Nikki rarely looked at Springer, preferring to pretend the other woman didn’t exist. Now, it felt a little strange observing her without her knowledge. She frowned. Did Springer look upset? Hard to tell really with the fuzziness of the CCTV, but her body language seemed off. Her head was down, her shoulders, hunched. ‘Try to get a shot of her face, Saj.’

Saj fiddled a bit, fast-forwarding, and finally managed to get a shot of Springer’s face. ‘She looks upset.’

Nikki shrugged. ‘Maybe. Or perhaps she’s just hungover. Difficult to tell. Let’s play on. What I want to know is where she went after this. No way did it take nearly an hour and a half to get to where we found her car.’

They watched as Springer approached her Kia and after slinging her trolley into the boot, got into the driver’s seat. Nikki tried to swallow the pang of envy when she mentally compared the glossy sleek bodywork to her dented wreck. Then she remembered the state of it as she’d seen it earlier with its front end all bashed in, a bullet hole in the driver’s seat and blood on the upholstery. Maybe her own Zafira was preferable after all.

‘Smooth ride.’

Nikki grunted and ignored Sajid’s comment. ‘What the hell’s she doing? Why’s she not moving?’

Sajid fast-forwarded, minute after minute scrolled past on the screen yet the car remained, engine on but unmoving. Then the door opened.

Nikki pointed to the screen. ‘Quick, she’s getting out.’

Saj rewound a little and replayed it on normal speed. The door swung open and then Springer’s head appeared as she vomited onto the concrete. ‘Ah, hungover it is, then.’

‘Looks like it,’ said Nikki. ‘Perhaps that’s why she chose to take the back roads despite the snow. Maybe she wanted to avoid getting stopped if she thought she was still over the limit.’ She looked at Saj and saw her own disbelief mirrored on his face. ‘Doesn’t seem like The Spaniel though, does it?’

‘Nah, she doesn’t strike me as a get-pissed-at-a-conference sort of woman.’

‘Right. Anybody managed to get in touch with her sidekick? Bashir, is it?’

Saj shook his head. ‘Extended annual leave. Gone to Pakistan. Grandad’s poorly apparently.’

At that point, Nikki’s phone rang. She looked at it and groaned. ‘It’s my mum.’

‘Well, you gotta answer it, Nik. See what she’s been up to.’

Nikki’s mum had gone to India with her elder sister, supposedly to shop for Nikki’s cousin, Monika’s wedding. But they’d been gone over a month already. In that time, they’d celebrated Holi with relatives in Gujarat, visited the Taj Mahal in Agra, the Red Fort in Jaipur and Gandhi’s ashram in Ahmedebad and now had returned to Gujarat to shop. Nikki missed her mum and would be glad when she returned to Bradford, but right now she didn’t want to have the conversation she suspected her mum wanted to have. ‘She’s going to Navsari tomorrow.’

‘And?’

The phone continued to ring. ‘Bloody sari shopping.’ Nikki frowned and answered it, resigned to the conversation about colours and textures and designs that she would have to have. ‘Hi Mum, you okay?’

Sajid yelled, ‘Hi Lalita. Don’t worry, I’m keeping Nikki under control whilst you’re away.’

Her mother sent her love back to Sajid, and then Nikki, with a half-smile on her face, listened to her mum describe the meal she’d had the previous night and a proposed trip to a hill station for the following week, before the conversation turned to clothes. ‘You need to give me some idea of colours, Nikita. Anika, Charlie and Ruby have all given me detailed lists. Even Sunni and Marcus have chosen a few suit designs.’

Nikki grimaced and stuck out her tongue at Sajid who was grinning at her, seemingly enjoying her discomfort. It was okay for the others, Anika and the girls. They liked flouncing around in saris and Indian suits. Nikki hated it. It wasn’t her style. She always felt uncomfortable. Hoping to reach a compromise, she put a smile into her voice and said, ‘You know what I’d really like to wear for the wedding?’

Her mother snorted and Nikki thought she heard her say ‘jeans’ but she ignored that and said. ‘A suit. A nice simple shalwar kameez. That’s what I’d like to wear.’

With a raised eyebrow, Sajid mouthed, ‘Really?’ at her.

Nikki turned her back on him. Of course, she didn’t want to wear a suit either, but it would be more manageable than a sari.

‘Nikki, it’s a wedding. We need to sparkle. Tell you what. I’ll get you and Anika similar saris. Five or six each should do.’

Nikki’s voice rose. ‘Five or six?’ Shit, no. She had three perfectly good ones at home, why wouldn’t those do? But her mum was already blowing kisses down the phone and giving instructions to pass her love onto the rest of the family before hanging up.

‘You look like you’ve been nuked.’

Nikki tightened her ponytail, grazed her fingers over the scar on her neck and exhaled. ‘Bloody feel like it too. Let’s get back to Springer.’

They spent the next twenty minutes going through the ANPR footage. They caught sight of the van Springer had described but as she’d said, its registration plates both front and back were obscured.

‘It doesn’t look like it targeted her. It was in front of her most of the way from the Wakefield roundabout onwards. Do you think she saw something peculiar before she phoned it in and that’s why she followed it?’

Nikki shook her head. ‘That doesn’t tie in with her call. It seems to have been completely arbitrary. Which means we’ve got to look for a needle in a haystack. Bet there’s thousands of unmarked plain-white transit vans in the district.’

Saj nodded, looking as fed up as she felt. ‘I’ll action it and get a couple of uniforms trawling through it. Any word from the helicopter search yet?’

‘Nah, probably too soon.’

‘Okay, we need to interview everyone at the conference too. Not that I think her disappearance is owt to do with that conference but still, better to cover all our bases.’

Sajid was already scrolling down a list of delegates and conference attendees. ‘This lot are a right motley bunch. We’ve got your Anika’s boyfriend, the ever so moral – and married, I hasten to add – Yousaf Mirza. Also, that homophobic friend of yours from vice, DI Joe Drummond. Archie’s on the list as is his mate DCI Eddie Capaldi and a whole load more dignitaries.’

His voice trailed off as Archie’s office door slammed open and DCS Clark stormed past them with barely a nod of acknowledgement as she left. Archie, red-faced, with his hair spiked on top of his head like two devil horns on either side of his bald patch followed her into the room, staring after his boss with a frown that was enough to have Nikki hesitate before approaching him.

He seemed to realize that Sajid and Nikki were staring at him and growled out a ‘Well?’

Nikki told him what they had, including the fact that someone had already requested the CCTV footage from the conference hotel. If she’d been expecting Archie to slam the heel of his hand against his brow and say ‘Och aye. That was me Parekh, slipped my mind,’ she’d have been mistaken. His expression didn’t change, not even when she wondered aloud about the fact the footage had been secured before any crime had been reported. This was so unlike Archie and it chilled her. Even Sajid looked flustered and he only knew half the story.

‘Need a word with you, Parekh.’ Archie lumbered back into his office. As she followed him, Nikki noticed the blinds were still down and she hoped she wasn’t about to be pulled any deeper into whatever was going off. If she was, she’d no intention of keeping Sajid out of the loop and if Archie requested that, then he could go and jump.

Choosing to stand, hoping it would speed things up, Nikki waited till Archie had lowered his sizeable frame into his chair and attempted to keep her expression neutral. She realized she hadn’t succeeded when Archie, studying her for a long moment finally said, ‘Face like a slapped arse, Parekh. Something up?’

Nikki gestured to the door that DCS Clark had left through and raised her eyebrows. ‘You tell me?’

Archie wafted his hands in front of him, his tone tired, almost defeated. ‘Sit, Parekh. Yer putting my proverbials on edge standing there like a bloody high court judge. No, scrap that. Yer mair like the damn executioner and after the morning I’ve had I can dae withoot it.’

Giving in, Nikki sank into a chair and waited. However, when Archie began to speak, it wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. She’d expected some semblance of an explanation about all the weird subterfuge, but instead … ‘You’re aware that it’s unlikely DI Ferguson will return. Medically speaking, he’s not fit for the job.’

Archie’s piercing eyes met Nikki’s and her heart fluttered. Why was there a brick in her stomach? She shook her head as if to ward off whatever words Archie was about to come out with, but to no avail. Ferguson had seriously hurt his back earlier in the year on a car chase and had been off since.

‘I’ve spoken with the chief and, perhaps a wee bit reluctantly if I’m honest, she’s agreed you can step up to acting DI for the time being.’

This was the last thing she’d been expecting and she was stunned. DI? Her? Yeah, the money would be handy, but she had to consider her family too. She already put so much into the job, this just seemed like a step too far for her. Besides, she liked working with Saj. She shook her head. ‘No way, boss. No chance. You know fine and well I’d hate that. I’m an on-the-streets sort of officer. No way I want to be DI, acting or otherwise.’

Archie just nodded. ‘I was afraid ye’d say that, Parekh. So, what I’m going tae do is gi’ you a bit of time. Let you think aboot it.’ As Nikki opened her mouth to object, he raised a finger. ‘Don’t say another word. We’ve got tae get our arse in gear and speak to Springer’s next of kin before they issue a statement tae the press.’

‘You mean you and Saj, yeah? You’ll take Saj with you. He’s good at all the touchy-feely stuff.’

‘No, I mean you. I told you earlier. Stop trying tae squirm out of it. Now, hop it. I need to check her file for the address. Five minutes, okay?’

What? That was it? No mention of him ordering the recordings, no explanation of the strange request he’d made earlier and still a whole load of secrecy. This was rubbish. She glowered at Archie, making her feelings known, but he didn’t even glance her way as she moved to the door. She’d just stretched out her hand to the handle when he cleared his throat. ‘You ordered that other test, Parekh? The one I texted you about?’

Not bothering to turn round, she nodded. ‘Course, though I’d rather have been able to tell Saj. What’s the big mystery?’ She hesitated, waiting for Archie to respond, but all she heard was the rustle of papers. She half-turned and looked at him. ‘We pulled the CCTV footage from the hotel the conference was held at.’

After long seconds, Archie replied with a grunt. ‘Good. Let me know what you find, eh?’

Heart sinking, Nikki pulled the door open and walked through, desperate to escape the suffocating secrets that hung in Archie’s room. Even the stink of the big office with all its ambient variants was an improvement.

Chapter 7

Felicity’s arms ached. In fact, despite the biting cold, her entire body ached. She thought she’d felt crap when she woke up, but right now, the only thing keeping her from giving up completely was Stevie. Stevie wouldn’t cope without her so, there was only one option. She needed to get out of this mess.

She lay still for a few moments, thinking. She was on her side, on top of a metal surface, in the dark and the cold, with an itchy blanket half over her. So, they’d probably dumped her in the back of the van and driven her somewhere. The van was silent so unless they were being ultra-quiet in the driver’s cab, she thought she might be alone. Her nostrils twitched at the oily petrol smell that wafted off the cover and she regurgitated a little bit of alcoholic vomit. If she wasn’t so damn cold, she would have kicked it off already. Her arms had been pulled behind her and her wrists were bound. When she moved them, whatever was binding them became tighter, scouring her flesh and sending shooting pain up her arms and into her shoulders. Cable ties. What should she do? What could she do? She moved her legs and discovered that her feet were bound together and only the presence of her jeans was saving them from chafing her skin.

She wanted to close her eyes and give in to the pain, but instead, a glimmer of a thought flickered into their mind. At first, she was resistant and then as the flicker persisted, she realized she had no other option if she wanted to survive. At the conference, Archie had looked at her scathingly and told her she should be ‘more like Parekh’ and that might be exactly what she needed to do to stay alive. She was no Nikita Parekh, yet, much as she despised the woman … distrusted her even, she knew that the tenacious thought niggling inside her throbbing head might be the only thing that would get her out of this mess. What would Nikki Parekh do?

Against her better judgement, Felicity Springer considered her options. Parekh would probably assess her physical condition. Felicity had no real knowledge that her supposition was true. She hardly knew Parekh – not really. Any interaction was always acrimonious, yet with a conviction born of these observations and office gossip, she knew that Parekh would not just curl up and die. She would fight. That’s what she’d done the previous year and that’s what she would do in this situation. Parekh was nothing if not fearless and determined. Keeping that thought in mind, Felicity hardened her resolve and began to assess her own physical condition.

Her shoulder ached like a bastard, and she suspected the bullet had gone straight through it. The smell of fresh blood made her feel a little nauseous, yet the fact that she was conscious and relatively clear-headed told her someone had staunched the bleeding. Her right arm felt useless by her side. Every movement was like a million pinpricks concentrated on her wound and she wanted to scream. Bet bloody Parekh would just suck it up and be on her feet already. Still feeling groggy, both by her hangover from the previous night and by the waves of nausea that rolled over her every few seconds, she tried to complete her injury inventory. On a scale from one to ten, her shoulder was a definite eight – no way would she consider it a ten; she had to think like Parekh, had to keep some reserves in play, so she couldn’t allow her bullet wound to be a ten. Using her newly devised criteria, she decided that her entire body, arms, shoulders, legs, crotch … all of that was a six.

The sound of her own breathing roared in her head, disorientating her. She needed to channel Nikki, so she slowed her breathing right down, long slow breaths and gradually she was able to focus on listening. She held her breath and strained her ears to see if she could hear the faint breathing of anyone else beside her. Nothing. There’d definitely been someone in distress in the transit van she’d followed. Had they been injured in the impact? Was she lying next to a dead person? The thought freaked her out and she began to drag in big breaths that increased her pain tenfold. Get a grip, Fliss. Get a bloody grip. You deal with cold cases, skeletonized corpses and bodies every day. Get a damn grip. The only difference was, she was in control then. Now she was at the mercy of some unknown assailant, in the middle of God knows where, channelling her inner bloody Parekh. If nothing else told her how bad the situation was, that one thing did.

‘Hello?’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded tremulous. She tried again a little louder, but not too loud in case someone was in the front cab of the van, ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’ Still nothing, so either she was alone or the person whose arm she’d seen through the taillight was unconscious. With determination she pushed away the addendum … ‘Or dead.’ She was not going to think that way. She was alive, she was able to move a little, she was alone. All of the above were things she could use to her advantage.

She rocked a little on her side – tentative and controlled. A groan escaped her lips as she fell back into her original position. Body, six and a half more like – not a seven though. No, she couldn’t allow the rest of her body to be a seven. It had to be well below the most painful injury on the pain scale. This was going to be hard. She took a deep breath and tried to roll onto her back, so she could see better. It wasn’t quite absolute darkness. There were shadows and shapes looming around her, some larger than others and some smaller. All she had to do was focus and she might find something to help her escape from her current predicament. All she had to do was overcome her pain and move round the vehicle, surely there would be something in here to help her.

Using her bound feet for leverage, Felicity began to push herself backwards to where she thought the front of the van was. Maybe she’d find a tool, something to cut her ties, something she could use as a weapon. Her head banged gently against a solid surface and she tilted her head, trying to work out what it was, but the light was too dim. Using her feet to propel her round so her hands could feel the surface, she ignored the warm blood that trickled from her shoulder and ended up pooling at her wrists. She got herself in position and strained her shoulder upwards, so her hands could touch the surface, and almost cried when she realized that instead of heading to the front of the vehicle, she’d slithered herself to the back instead.

She was at the door, but there was no way she could either stand up or reach the handle to open it, which, knowing her luck would be locked anyway. Her shoulders slumped, and the sensation of sticky blood on her bare hands and wrists was gross. She hated dirt, hated gore, hated anything like that. Stevie often teased her about nappies and baby sick. Not her fault if she had an aversion to all that crap. The glimmer of Nikki Parekh was in danger of fading; pain was hitting a nine. Can’t let it hit ten. If it gets to ten, I might as well give up.

She moved her wrists, tried to wipe some of the blood off onto her sleeve. It strained her shoulders, but she was prepared to bottle the pain if she could just get rid of that horrid stickiness. At the back of her mind she was aware that she was becoming a little hysterical … a little panicked, still she kept flexing and unflexing her wrists, desperate to get rid of the cloying gunge. It was invading her nostrils with its coppery abattoir smell. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she kept frantically moving. It wasn’t a sudden awareness that the cable ties were shifting with her movements, more of a gradual dawning. Her moving hands slowed as she savoured the fact that the ties moved up and down her wrists without causing quite so much pain – a four now instead of a six. She tried twisting them to the right and then to the left – definitely slacker. The blood from her shoulder was lubricating the cable ties making it easier for her to move them. If she could only persevere a bit more – channel a bit more Parekh – then maybe she could get out of them. Separating her wrists as wide as she could, she began moving again – this time more frantic. It was sore – course it was – a seven, maybe nearly an eight, the cable ties were digging into her wrists, despite the lubrication, but the gap between her wrists was getting wider. Finally, breathless, sore and tired, Felicity reckoned she had created enough slack.

First, she tried to yank both hands out together, but all she succeeded in doing was hurting her wrists even more. It was then she had the idea of manoeuvring one bloody hand out at a time. Keeping her fingers as close together as she could, and tucking her thumb in, she pulled her right hand up whilst sliding her left down trying to maximize the space between them. It took a few attempts and when she finally succeeded, her right arm jerked, causing a sharp dagger to shoot through her shoulder. Dizzy and gasping in pain, her breath rasping in her throat, she couldn’t quite believe she’d managed to get out of the cable ties. Her fingers were numb as the blood flooded them – ten fat sausages on the end of her hands. A definite eight. Not a nine though, definitely not a nine. Take that Parekh. Just take that!

Now what? Freer now, Felicity rolled onto her back and brought her hands round to rest on her stomach. Forcing herself to block out the pain, she wiggled her digits, willing her circulation to do its job, willing the numbness to go so she could use them. After what seemed like ages, she rested her elbows on either side of her body, and minimizing the pressure on her still recovering hands, she got herself into a sitting position, leaning against the door. Her feet didn’t have the same numbness she had experienced in her hands and it took her a moment to realize that the ties weren’t as tight around her feet. If she pulled the material from her jeans up that would loosen them even more and if she removed her ankle boots, she’d be able to get them off completely. She’d be untethered.

The thought spurred her into action and she forced her clumsy fingers to first pull her jeans out from under the ties and then she was able to pull the ties further up her leg as she unzipped her boots. She took frequent breaks to rest her shoulder which, though she was loathe to admit it, was now hitting nine, possibly even nine and a half. She needed to get out of there. Needed to get out of this damn metal coffin. Needed to get back to Stevie. She’d never admit to anyone that she’d channelled Nikki Parekh of all people to help her. No, that would be her secret – one she’d take with her to the grave. Unable to bend down one more time, Felicity jiggled one foot at a time until her boots were nearly off and then, with a final effort, managed to flip them off completely, before manoeuvring one foot, then the other from the cables.

The relief was like a tsunami knocking her backwards against the metal panels. But it was short-lived. She gasped as she realized time might not be on her side. Felicity shuffled over to her boots, rammed them on and clambered to her feet, her hands outstretched and feeling for the handles that would guarantee her release.

Her hand latched onto the mechanism at the same time as a grinding sound reached her. Someone was coming in. Someone was nearby. Fear flooded her body as she wondered whether they would check on her, and if they would look to make sure that she was still secured. Falling to her knees, Felicity grabbed the cables and put one foot in, lay on her left side facing the door with her hands clasped behind her and shrugged the smelly fabric half over her body, praying that they would assume that if her position was changed it was done en route to wherever they were. She closed her eyes. Better if they thought she was still unconscious.

The door opened, and torch light bounced around the van. Focusing on keeping her breathing steady and not flinching, Felicity waited. A slight dip of the vehicle told her someone had entered, and seconds later she smelled the faint but familiar tang of a citrusy aftershave that made her stomach lurch. Please don’t notice the cables, please don’t notice the cables. What is he doing?

‘What you waiting for? Get the fuck up here. Find out if he’s still with us. Then get the body disposed of. Get a move on.’

Felicity froze. That voice … did she recognize it? Was it someone she knew or was she just imagining it?

‘Yes boss.’ The second voice was raspy, like he’d smoked too many full tars over his lifetime and then the van dropped again as a second man entered. ‘Nope, still alive.’

The words chilled Felicity; they were going kill her. Kill her and dump her. The vehicle dipped once more, and shoes scraped against metal. A third person. So at least three in total. The familiar citrusy scent was replaced by sweat and stale smoke. Felicity tried to think. What the hell would Parekh do? Should she try to make it to the door? She was weak and stiff. She could barely stand upright without effort, there was no way she could use the element of surprise – not in her condition. The only option she had was to play dead. Maybe if they thought she was dead, or even just unconscious, they’d just dump her and not bother killing her. Maybe then she’d have a chance.

Cold fingers touched her neck and Felicity forced herself not to flinch as she held her breath and Felicity closed her mind. If she shut everything off, maybe she’d survive.

Tar man replied, ‘Leave that to me and Jase. We’ve got the dump spot all sorted, like. We won’t let you down. Not again.’

‘They both need to be disposed of. But separately. She needs to be dumped where she won’t be found for months – the middle of the moors or somewhere. And him …’ Xavier kicked the prone man. ‘Finish him. And make sure you use the usual forensic measures – yeah?’

Felicity recognized the voice itself but couldn’t place it. Without a face to go with it, she just couldn’t remember. She couldn’t risk looking, had to play unconscious. Keep her eyes closed and focus on keeping still. Not that it would do her any good, not with a bullet through her brain. So much for channelling Nikki fucking Parekh!

Citrusy man snorted and then the van lifted again. ‘Okay, I’m counting on you. Get on with it.’

The click of a semi-automatic pistol being cocked echoed in Felicity’s ears. Her breath caught in her throat and it was all she could do not to scream out loud. She sent up a final prayer that Stevie would be all right. She needed to believe that Stevie would be all right … especially now. She hadn’t quite finished her frantic prayers when the shot fired out, extra loud in the van … followed by silence.

Chapter 8

Felicity Springer lived in Eccleshill, just behind The Oddfellows Arms on Harrogate Road. As Nikki turned onto Springer’s street, the sight of the pub made Nikki realize that she and Sajid still hadn’t found a new pub to make their local. Although The Mannville Arms was supposedly opening again under new management, Nikki doubted that she’d ever be able to set foot in it again. Not after everything that had happened. A year on and still the very thought of the place made her shudder. Dreams of rats chasing her through the underground tunnels soon morphed into a human assailant and even now, Nikki often woke up drenched in sweat, her breath ragged, her heart thudding. Marcus, half asleep, would stretch out an arm and pull her to his chest, holding her tight till she felt safe enough to drift off to sleep again.

Now wasn’t the time to think about that though. She’d something far worse on her mind and the very thought of it chilled her to the marrow. Her mum had confided in her once that her biggest fear was the thought of two police officers landing on her doorstep to deliver just the sort of news Nikki was going to deliver now. The chances were extremely slim, she told her mother, yet history told her that you could never be too sure of that.

Her clapped-out old Zafira felt overcrowded with Archie rammed into the passenger seat beside her as she pulled up onto the kerb a few feet from number thirty-six. The car’s erratic heating system had dried their snow-covered outer garments, leaving a damp smell lingering in the air. The fact that Archie kept fidgeting and practising his words under his breath was distracting and Nikki wished the whole thing was over. There were, after all, only so many ways you could tell a relative that their loved one had been abducted and was injured, possibly dead. Apart from that, Nikki was still angry with Archie, but she had to get over that before they approached the house.

‘What do we know about The Spaniel, Archie? She married or what?’ Although Nikki and Springer had worked in the same building for years, Nikki knew nothing about the other woman’s home life. Truth was, Nikki avoided Springer as much as possible and she suspected Springer did the same. They were more enemies than friends and that niggled at Nikki. It was difficult enough to be present when a relative was notified of something like this, but having to offer insincere platitudes about how popular Springer was and what a good officer she was went against the grain. She’d do it though. It was part of the job. She was just relieved that Archie was the one doing the talking. All she’d need to do was to nod in the right place and look suitably solemn.

‘Don’t know much.’ Archie’s voice was gruff. ‘Records say she’s married, but nobody, not even DC Bashir kens anything about her. Next of kin is down as her spouse Stevie Blake. Shit, Nikki. How am I going tae dae this? What if I get ma proverbials in a knot? It’s ages since I’ve delivered a …’

He hesitated, and Nikki knew he had been about to say death notice. She turned off the engine, leaned across and squeezed his arm. ‘We’ve no evidence to say she’s dead yet. You know that. We need to keep it upbeat. Get the lay of the land. She might have kids, for all we know.’ Although the very thought of Springer deigning to go through childbirth seemed very unlikely to Nikki. ‘Tell you what, Archie. I’ll do it.’

Archie’s lips twitched as he extricated himself from his seat belt, opened the door and stepped onto the road. ‘Since when have you been Ms Sensitive, Nikita Parekh?’ he said over the top of the car when Nikki had emerged from the other side. ‘Nae chance, hen. I’ll dae it myself.’

Nikki opened her mouth to argue and then sighed. Archie was right, she was definitely not Ms Sensitive. But she could make the tea. ‘Okay, you win.’ Then, grumbling as she joined him on the pavement, added, ‘That’s why I said Sajid would have been a better choice.’

Together they opened the gate and walked up to the door. Springer’s house was a modern-built semi with a drive with enough room for two cars. It was occupied by a sporty-looking vehicle that Nikki assumed would be well above Springer’s pay grade, and she wondered what exactly Springer’s partner did for a living. Parallel to the drive was a paved area with a few plant pots and some covered garden furniture. It was strange to think of the missing woman as a person and not just a colleague she didn’t get on with. No matter what her personal feelings for Springer were, she felt sorry for the poor sod – her husband – whose life they were about to disrupt. The lights were on, but the curtains were only half shut and before Archie and Nikki reached the front door it was wrenched open by a striking woman. With a mane of red hair cascading over her shoulders, she was at least a foot taller than Nikki. And she was pregnant.

Archie, eyes automatically drawn to the woman’s belly, coughed. ‘I’m DCI Archie Hegley and this is DS Parekh. We work with DS Springer, can we come in?’

The woman looked from Archie to Nikki and then back again, before her hand flew up to her mouth. Without uttering a word, she stepped back from the door and ushered them inside. Exchanging a quick glance with Archie, Nikki stepped through the door, taking care to wipe her feet on the mat before she followed the woman along the cream-coloured carpet and into a living room that smelled of roses and something spicy. Clearly this woman was at home here.

Once inside, the woman gestured to the sofa and Nikki sat, only to almost be catapulted back off when Archie’s weight descended on the other side. The woman stood before a flickering wood burning stove, and Nikki’s glance was drawn to a framed photograph on the wall above the fireplace.

Wringing her hands, the woman finally spoke. ‘Has something happened to her?’

Archie cleared his throat and began to speak. ‘I need to speak to Felicity’s, I mean DS Springer’s hu—’

Realizing the mistake her boss was about to make, Nikki jumped to her feet, and putting her arm round the other woman’s shoulder, guided her to a chair. ‘You must be Felicity’s wife … Stevie, is it? We need to talk to you.’

Nikki glanced pointedly from Archie to the photograph of Felicity Springer and her wife in matching wedding dresses, arms round each other, love shining from their eyes, hoping he’d get the hint. Nikki had never seen The Spaniel look so human. Discarding that thought, she focused on the woman before her but before she had a chance to speak the woman said, ‘I know something’s happened. Fliss should’ve been home ages ago.’

Fliss? For a moment Nikki was confused then she caught herself. First Felicity, now Fliss? Really? Today was throwing up all sorts of surprises about DS Springer.

‘I left her a voicemail earlier, but haven’t heard back from her. Even accounting for the weather, she should’ve been home ages ago and she’s not answering her phone. It’s so not like her.’ She gripped Nikki’s hands in both of hers. ‘Please tell me she’s all right.’

Nikki swallowed, glanced at Archie and cursed inwardly, wishing she’d paid more attention to his practice attempts in the car. Archie nodded at her giving her permission to break the news. Nikki broke out in a sweat. Trying for her most sensitive tone, she removed her hands from the other woman’s and crouched beside her. ‘It seems that on the way home from the conference in Wakefield, DS …’ She cleared her throat. ‘I mean Felicity … Fliss saw something untoward in the van in front and followed it. She alerted the police by phoning 999 and we were able to ascertain her location using the What3words app.’ Nikki swallowed, wishing the other woman would stop staring at her like her life depended on her. ‘By the time we reached her, there had been a car crash and DS, I mean Felicity, was absent from the scene, as was the vehicle she was pursuing.’

Stevie held Nikki’s gaze for what felt like hours before responding. ‘But she gave you the reg number, didn’t she? You’ve traced the reg number and you’ll soon find the vehicle. They’ve not hurt her … tell me they’ve not hurt her.’

Archie moved behind them and Nikki prayed he would answer, but he remained silent. Up to me then, is it? ‘The thing is, Stevie. DS Sp … Felicity couldn’t give us the vehicle registration. She told the emergency services operator that it was covered in some way and unfortunately when we got to her car, there was evidence that Spri … I mean, Felicity was hurt.’

Tears began to roll down Stevie’s cheeks and with a sigh, Nikki stood up and relocated herself to the chair arm, putting her arms around the now crying woman. ‘We’re doing all we can to find her and the initial analysis indicates that the blood loss is non-fatal.’

‘Blood loss? Was she hurt in the crash?’

‘No … not in the crash.’ Nikki wished she didn’t have to say the words, but there was no other way. She had to be honest. Stevie had to be prepared. ‘We think she may have been shot.’

As Stevie collapsed in her arms, Nikki held her, looking over the other woman’s head to Archie, who sat motionless on the couch, hands trapped between his knees, an expression Nikki had never seen before on his face.

What the hell wasn’t Archie telling her?

Chapter 9

The atmosphere in the incident room after Nikki and Archie had left to speak to Springer’s partner was calm, but still a heaviness lingered, as if warning Sajid that things were going to get worse – much worse. The other two officers who’d been working on their computers had disappeared. Whether they’d signed out or just gone for a break, Sajid wasn’t sure, but the quiet was a welcome change from the tension radiating from both his partner and his boss.

Flinging his pen across the table, Sajid stretched his arms up, trying, and failing, to release the knot at the bottom of his spine and ease the taut sensation in his shoulders. He was fed up with Nikki. It had been obvious that she was keeping something from him earlier at the crime scene and equally obvious that she and Archie had disagreed over something before they left, yet she just shook her head at him when he asked. With her lips tightly pinched, she put her socks and boots back on before heading out of the room with a curt. ‘Tell him I’ll wait for him at my car.’

Now, looking at the crime board, he was aware that he was prevaricating. It was time to go home. There was nothing else they could do now and anything that came in later would be caught by the night shift. Home meant Langley and he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to face him just yet. He sighed before logging off his computer and tidying up his desk. It was okay for Langley. He’d been brought up in a very different family to Sajid’s. Langley’s family couldn’t care less about his sexuality. They supported it even and that made him comfortable in his own skin. Saj was only too aware that he lived a sort of double life. One where he was always slightly conscious of where he was, whose company he was in and who knew about his private life. He was only truly relaxed when at home with Langley, at Nikki’s or on the job.

However, Langley was getting pissed off – no, that was too strong a word. Langley didn’t do pissed off, no, it was more exasperation, with being, in his words, ‘the hidden partner’. Saj couldn’t blame him really. If Langley were with someone other than him, he could be as ‘out’ as he wanted. The mere thought of Langley being with someone else made Sajid shudder. He couldn’t bear it if his boyfriend got so fed up with him that he dumped him. But what was the alternative? Come out to his parents and family? Yeah, he knew exactly how that would go down – lead balloons would be an understatement. The entire family would be horrified, the extended family and the community would be consulted and Saj would be evicted from the family … if not worse. It was the worse he was worried about. Although his parents were mild-mannered, there were members of his family from Birmingham who’d been part of the demonstrations against the No Outsiders education programme, outside the primary schools in their area. Mouthing off, using the Qur’an to justify their bigotry towards gay rights without even fully understanding what the school curriculum is about. He doubted they’d be receptive to his sexuality and the worst thing was, some of them were already angry that he’d become a copper. This would be the last straw.

Although, he was concerned about his own welfare, that wasn’t his priority. Saj was more than able to look after himself, but Langley was a different matter. Langley was a bloody doctor for God’s sake, not a fighter. Hell, Langley was so oblivious to his surroundings, unless of course it was the damn mortuary, that he wouldn’t even see them coming. Did Saj really want to expose the man he loved to that? The only options available to him were to either break up with Langley or confide all of his fears and convince his boyfriend to keep their relationship on the low down. After all, there wasn’t a huge distance between Bradford and Dewsbury. All he needed was some uncle or auntie spotting him with Langley and putting two and two together. He supposed they could move, but that was like giving in, giving up.

The message he needed to get over to Langley was that he wasn’t ashamed of their relationship or his own sexuality. That was the fear he saw lurking in Langley’s eyes all the time; that he was ashamed of them.

Grabbing his coat from the hook by the door, he left the office. If he was being one hundred per cent honest with himself, he’d admit that a lifetime of anti-gay rhetoric did cloud his happiness. If his parents could be as accepting as Langley’s were, things would be better. They’d like Langley. He was sure of that. What wasn’t to like – other than the fact that he wasn’t female, that is?

Deciding that he couldn’t put things off any longer, that he had to make some sort of attempt to talk to Langley, try to make him understand, he swung by the One Stop in Heaton and grabbed a bottle of wine. Langley had cooked, but not knowing when Saj would return home, he’d texted to let him know he’d eaten and that his food could be reheated when he got home. The thought of Langley’s Yorkshire puds and roast beef would normally have Saj salivating, but tonight his stomach felt fragile. What was wrong with him? Too much time spent with Nikki, that’s what it was. He’d absorbed her inability to confide, her inability to articulate her feelings to those she loved. He was normally the one who was more in touch with his feelings. It was what he was good at – talking to witnesses, making them feel at ease – so why the hell was this so difficult?

By the time he arrived in the underground car park and got out of his Jag his nerves were fried. So much depended on this and the last thing he wanted was to mess it up. All too soon, the lift whooshed him up to his floor and then he was at the front door of their flat. As he pushed the door open, the sound of some documentary or other drifted through from the front room. Taking his time, he hung his coat on the coat stand and walked through to the living room where Langley lay sprawled on the couch, so engrossed in his programme that he didn’t hear Saj enter.

Saj looked at him for a moment. He was wearing the jumper Saj had given him for his birthday and he’d clearly just had a shower as his hair was still damp and flopping over his forehead. What a geek! Despite his anxiety, a smile tugged Saj’s lips and the knowledge that he’d do anything to protect this man barrelled into him like a rhino on speed.

He walked over, placed his hands round Langley’s shoulders and plonked the red wine in his lap, savouring the way Langley’s eyes crinkled when they saw him. The big discussion could wait for now.

Chapter 10

Nikki needed to unwind after the emotionally charged business of telling the heavily pregnant Stevie Blake what had happened to her wife. She forced her shoulders to relax as she drove round the Listerhills Estate streets. This was something she often did before heading home for the evening. Keeping an eye on her patch as she drove had two benefits. One, she kept her finger on the pulse and two, she didn’t take as much of her work home with her as usual.

Fliss! For God’s sake, Fliss? Who’d have thought jagged, cold Springer would be called Fliss? She frowned. Who’d have thought jagged, cold Springer would have a pregnant wife? Shit, Nikki had suspected she ate children for breakfast but that whole scenario was turned on its head. Now that she’d met Springer’s pregnant partner and liked her, it was even more imperative to get Springer home. She was invested in this now.

Her headlights picked up figures scurrying into the darkness of the ginnels. That was something else to worry about. Franco and Deano, the dealers she’d got rid of last year, may be gone, but there was always another rat ready to pop up from the sewers … no wonder she hated the vermin so much. Deliberately, she turned off the side street and into the cobbled back alley that separated two lines of terraces, and trawled down it in second gear. It was three streets over from her own home yet this was always one she kept an eye on. It backed onto one edge of the Rec and was prime land for drug deals, besides, there had been a worrying increase in machete attacks nearby in the last two weeks. Where there were machete attacks, Nikki’s experience told her there were also Class As, other weapons and gullible kids to get caught up in the bravado and cheap sell of a Lamborghini, a snazzy wristwatch and posh mobile. She’d spoken to the drug squad before and although they were keeping an eye open and supposedly receiving intel about the new kingpin, nothing seemed to be confirmed. Well, nothing her contact, Joe Drummond, was willing to share. In the meantime, there was an air of expectancy, like a toxic cloud hovering over her estate and Nikki wasn’t going to stand for that. She reached the bottom of the ginnel, hoping her exhaust wouldn’t fall off – she’d no spare cash to replace that, not if she was going to replace the battery – and waited, looking to her right and left.

A figure dodged out from a back yard further down, didn’t even look in Nikki’s direction and loped off down the ginnel, dodging the puddles, shoulders hunched and hood up. As he dipped under one of the few still-working streetlamps she cursed. ‘Fuck’s sake Haqib. Do you never learn?’ and she was out of her car, leaving the engine running and her door open as she darted after him. ‘Haqib?’

He hesitated, seemed to consider whether to speed up or turn and face the music. Thankfully, for him, the latter instinct won.

‘Whassup, Aunt Nikki?’ He splayed his hands in front of him, sulky mouth drooping, attitude in the way he hunched his shoulders.

‘What you doing out at this time? It’s after ten and you, I believe, are still grounded after Fingergate.’ She was well aware that she was being harsh. The lad’s finger had been amputated and reattached nearly a year ago. Sometimes though, it paid to remind him of what his last brush with drugs had resulted in.

Haqib winced and flexed his little finger. ‘That’s a bit tight, innit? That were last year. I’ve not been grounded for months now.’

Hands on hips, Nikki inhaled slowly. ‘I’ll tell you what’s tight, Haqib Parekh. Skipping out of the house behind your mum’s back – that’s what’s tight. Breaking your word – that’s tight too, hanging out here—’

‘Yeah, yeah, I get it. That’s tight too.’ Haqib mimicked his auntie’s tone.

Nikki reached over and gently cuffed the back of his head, ‘No, that’s not bloody tight … that’s stupid. S.T.U.P.I.D. Stupid – got it?’

‘I ain’t doing drugs, you know. I’m not that mental.’

Nikki raised an eyebrow, not caring how harsh she was being. Haqib worried her. A young Asian lad trying to be cocky, trying to be a big man, was a worry for her. Her sister Anika, Haqib’s mum, seemed content to leave it up to Nikki to sort her son out. Not that she had a reliable good male role model to offer Haqib. But that was another story. She studied the bloom of red that spread across his cheeks. That was guilt all right, but not the sort of blasé, fast-talking guilt she was used to from her nephew. ‘So, spill!’

A voice from behind her had Nikki spinning on her heel.

‘It’s me he came to see, Mrs Parekh.’

The girl was tall – taller than Haqib, skinnier than was healthy, blonde with blue eyes and a dimple in the middle of her chin. At present her eyes looked worried as she darted glances towards Haqib and each hand worried at the sleeve of her jacket. The girl looked familiar, but it took a minute for Nikki to place her and when she did, she groaned inwardly. Fuck’s sake Haqib, if it’s not drugs, it’s inappropriate relationships. ‘You’re Glass’s sister, aren’t you?’

The girl nodded. ‘Michelle – Chelle-to-my-mates.’

The words ran together and for a second Parekh thought she was telling her she had a different surname to her brother. Chelle-to-her-mates indeed. Who did she think she was – bloody royalty?

‘Haq isn’t doing drugs. He knows it’s for idiots, don’t you, Haq?’

Haqib, mouth hanging open, looking exactly like an idiot himself at that precise moment, nodded. Lovestruck, that’s what he is. But did he have to be lovestruck over Adam Glass’s sister? Of all the girls on the estate, her nuisance of a nephew had to go for the one most likely to have him losing another digit – if not something worse.

‘So …’ Nikki chewed her lip, trying to come up with something auntie-ish to say, but could only manage, ‘You’re both bloody stupid. Do you really think your white-supremacist brother, office holder in Albion First, Yorkshire’s answer to the EDL, is going to sit back and let you date an Asian boy … a Muslim boy?’

Michelle’s eyes darted to the ground and then almost immediately straight back up again. She met Nikki’s gaze. ‘We love each other, me and Haq. We’re like Romeo and Juliet, aren’t we, Haq?’ Her face flushed, her lips turned up, her eyes full of love as she looked at her boyfriend.

Looking a little embarrassed, Haqib managed a mumbled, ‘It’s not like I’m proper Muslim anyway, is it? Dun’t go to mosque or owt.’

Nikki somehow managed to swallow her snort of laughter, but one look at Haqib’s hurt expression told her that her face had given her away. The lad was right, he wasn’t Muslim, apart from when Anika decided to try to impress her married lover and Haqib’s dad. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Really, I am. I can remember being your age and thinking I was in—’

‘Told you she wouldn’t understand and if she dun’t understand, Chelle, then my mum won’t stand for it either. We’re doomed.’ Haqib looked ferocious, his eyes flashing, and Nikki sighed. There was no need for her to be such an arse. No need at all. Especially when she should be pleased that Haqib wasn’t involved with the druggies. Still, going out with Adam Glass’s sister wasn’t a whole lot safer for him. Glass was an upstart thug … but he was an upstart thug with friends – organized friends!

Aw, for goodness’ sake. Nikki was beginning to wish she’d gone straight home and not done her usual trawl of the area. She hated this sort of crap. Marcus, on the other hand, was good at this. Maybe she could get him to have a word with Listerhills’ answer to Titanic. She scowled, wishing she’d opted for a simile that didn’t involve the male lead losing his life. Mind you, Michelle’s analogy to Romeo and Juliet was no more promising.

Using every reserve of patience she had, and channelling a little of her memory of the feelings she’d once had for her deceased husband, Nikki smiled. When the girl took a step closer to Haqib and grabbed his arm, angling herself slightly behind him, Nikki realized her ‘smile’ was less reassuring than she’d hoped. ‘Look. I can’t be all warm and fuzzy about this. Your brother is a racist scumbag.’ Oops, should’ve toned that down a little. But when Nikki looked at Michelle, the girl was nodding, a slight smile on her face.

‘He is, Adam’s a racist. He’s a thug. But … I’m not. I don’t mind Pakis. Anyway, Haqib’s not pure Paki. He’s a half-caste.’ The girl’s smile widened as if she was expecting a pat on the back for her enlightened views.

Flinching at the ‘P’ word that had so glibly dropped from Chelle’s mouth, followed as quickly by the equally offensive ‘half-caste’, Nikki was amazed that her nephew didn’t even seem to register it. ‘Eh. I think you mean Pakistani, not Paki and we don’t use half-caste either. It’s a racist term. Mixed race or dual heritage are better.’

Chelle wafted her hand in a ‘whatever’ gesture and continued. ‘Anyway, what I’m saying is, my brother in’t here any more, so Haqib and I can be together properly.’

Haqib blushed again and Nikki decided not to wonder what ‘properly’ entailed for the two kids but she made a mental note to ask Marcus to get in a supply of condoms and do the ‘dad’ chat with Haqib. She was more concerned with wondering where Adam Glass was going and for how long. She liked to keep an eye on idiots like Glass and it was always useful to know where they were. As for the racist crap – she’d have a word with Haqib later about appropriate use of language and not falling into the ‘you’re not like the others’ trap that white racists often used to justify their own prejudice. ‘Heading off somewhere, is he? Your brother?’

Haqib stepped forward, fingers linked through his girlfriend’s, tone eager. ‘He’s been demoted like. No longer head honcho of Albion First.’

Eyes narrowed, Nikki studied Haqib. Why wasn’t this common knowledge? Why hadn’t her snitches told her this? This was big, with widespread implications for Bradford and beyond. ‘You sure?’

It was Michelle who answered. ‘They came for him in the middle of the night two nights ago, dragged him from his bed. Me and my mum were bricking it, but they just told us to keep schtum. She won’t say it, but Mum’s as glad as I am to see the back of him. Couldn’t stand the idiots he brought round to the house. Hated them.’

‘Who came for him?’

‘Albion First. They all had masks on, but who else could it be? They said summat about laundry and that if he didn’t spill the codes, he’d be a goner.’

Laundry … Could that be laundering? Was Glass laundering money? She hadn’t had him down for that and Joe Drummond, her eyes and ears in vice, hadn’t alerted her to that either. Maybe he was doing it for someone further up the chain? Albion First had little cells all over the region and they were being funded somehow. Perhaps Glass was doing more than just being a henchman. Possibly he was involved in ensuring their economic viability. If she was heading up an extreme right-wing party, she’d use someone like him as her patsy. ‘And you’ve not seen him since then?’

‘Nope, but he texted. Said he had to leave the country.’

‘Why would his own thugs come and take him away? That doesn’t make sense.’ Nikki was talking more to herself than the two kids, but Haqib answered like he thought she was losing it.

‘Duh, because he was double dealing, everyone knew that. On the one hand he’s heading up that Albion First shit and on the other he’s cutting deals with that new guy from Wakefield that’s taken over from Franco. Word is he’s into some bad stuff, but nobody knows his name.’

This was all news to Nikki and she didn’t like it. She always kept her finger on the pulse of Bradford and on her estate in particular. The fact that this had escaped her notice vexed her. Had Drummond kept her out of the loop? Surely not. They’d done favours for each other for years now and he’d always kept her informed. Well, she’d soon find out. She turned to love’s young dreamers, trying to ignore the fact that they had their tongues down each other’s throats and coughed loudly. When she had their attention, she tried out a friendly grin. ‘You two need to skip off home, right now. Listerhills isn’t safe till we suss out what’s going on.’ Nikki took out her mobile and as the kids sidled away in opposite directions, she phoned Joe.

The phone rang for ages, before it was answered by an annoyed voice, ‘Yeah, Parekh. Bad timing, as per usual.’

Nikki could hear the sounds of a disgruntled female voice complaining in the background and choosing to ignore Joe’s words, jumped straight in. ‘Did you know about this mysterious guy from Wakefield?’

The silence on the end of the phone told her all she needed to know. ‘You bastard. You knew there was someone new on my streets and you didn’t tell me?’

The unmistakable sounds of someone getting out of bed reached Nikki’s ears. ‘Look love, all we know is this boss is well under the radar. Seems like the fucker wears a damn invisibility cloak. We’ve no idea if he’s from Wakefield. None of our snitches are spilling, we’ve got reports of human-trafficking, rumours of huge weapons stashes, lorry loads of heroin dispersing throughout the district.

‘What about Glass – where does he fit in?’

‘Glass?’ Joe sounded surprised, so Nikki continued.

‘Word is he was picked up from his house and has gone AWOL.’

‘Shit! Glass has been picked up from his house? Things are unstable in Bradford … really unstable and we can’t seem to get a handle on it. Thanks for passing on your intel. It’s useful, but you need to focus on that Springer case, yeah?’

Nikki frowned. What wasn’t Joe sharing? ‘You will keep—’

But he’d hung up and Nikki wanted to throw her phone at the wall. Who the hell was Joe Drummond to hang up on her! Okay, so what if it was a Sunday evening and he was with his latest girlfriend? He owed her. Stamping her feet, causing slush to drench her jeans, before spinning on her heel, she trudged back to her vehicle, got in and resumed her nightly rounds. Something was off in this area and, even if it killed her, she’d find out what it was. An invisible kingpin was worrisome. She much preferred the ones that she could see. The ones that were in the open. It was the insidious ones that caused more damage.

A half-hour later, shoulders aching with being hunched over her steering wheel, Nikki turned into her own street and parked up in the only space she could find which was just outside her mother’s house. Her sister’s and Nikki’s homes were half a dozen doors further down on the opposite side of the road. Since everything that had happened before, Nikki had got into the habit of sitting in her car for a few minutes to clear some of her work from her mind before entering the house. That way she was able to be present in Marcus’s company. He appreciated it and it was working for them now they’d moved in together.

The kids too were happier. So what if on occasion she resented not having her own space, resented not being able to lie on her bed and work through things in peace. Overall, things were better … and Marcus was alive. A movement out of the corner of her eye made her glance up. A man in a parka with the hood up was sidling down the street. When he stopped at Anika’s gate and cast a glance at Nikki’s house, Nikki cursed. Bloody Anika is seeing Yousaf again. Will my sister ever learn that Haqib’s dad is bad for her?

She inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, using the technique shown her by the psychiatrist she had to see in order to be cleared for work. Despite her initial misgivings the therapy had proved beneficial. Hands resting at ten and two o’clock on the steering wheel, eyes closed, Nikki repeated the action, consciously releasing the tension from her shoulders and across her back. When the passenger door opened and someone slid into the seat, she continued breathing, but this time with a slight smile on her lips. ‘Caught me again, Marcus.’

‘Couldn’t stand to be away from you a moment longer.’ Marcus’s tone was light and teasing. ‘You eaten?’

Nikki thought about that, then opened her eyes. ‘Not since I had to miss half of that stupendous Sunday dinner you cooked.’

‘Just as well I saved you a plate then, isn’t it?’

He settled in and the two of them savoured the companionable silence. She was so lucky. So damn lucky to have him. She reached over and squeezed his arm. They weren’t like normal couples, not like Saj and Langley for example who kept no secrets from each other. She and Marcus had more than a normal quota of secrets and an unspoken agreement that it wasn’t necessary to talk about them. She frowned. Well that was what she thought. They’d never actually talked about it. She’d just assumed Marcus got it. As she looked through the windscreen, it began to niggle her that perhaps he did want to share. Marcus was completely different from her – more gregarious, much more open. Maybe he didn’t confide in her because she closed it down.

Nikki, focusing on the empty street ahead, said, ‘You know I don’t talk much. You know, dwell on stuff and do all the, well … the baring my soul and all that.’

Nikki swallowed hard as Marcus turned to face her. Thank God for the shadows. Last thing she needed was to get this off her chest with him looking at her.

Marcus prompted her. ‘And?’

‘Well, like. I just want you to know that you can. If you want, that is. You can tell me anything. I’ll listen.’

Amusement running through his voice, Nikki could imagine Marcus’s smile, as he replied. ‘This about last year, Nik? Cause if it is, we’re all good. You know that.’ And he threaded his fingers through hers.

It wasn’t just about last year though; it was about everything. Her childhood, his childhood. Her dad, his parents. She bit her lip, realizing she knew nothing about Marcus’s folks. She cleared her throat. ‘Erm, you know …’ She hesitated, unused to this sort of conversation, but determined to spit her recent thoughts out. ‘We don’t talk about other stuff either.’ She waved her hand in the air as if that explained the sort of stuff she was referring to.

‘Eh?’ In the light cast by the streetlights, Marcus’s frown was visible. ‘What other stuff?’

Moving her body till she was leaning against the door, so she could see him better, Nikki tried again. ‘Like stuff we’ve done … you know before. Like the boxes I keep in the bedroom about my dad.’ She risked a glance at him and tried to keep all inflection from her tone as she added, ‘Or your family.’

Marcus’s pursed his lips and Nikki not sure what that implied wafted her hand in the air. ‘Well, I just want you to know, we can talk about it. If you like, that is … just saying we can … you know … share stuff if you like.’

The frown cleared off Marcus’s brow and a small smile played across his lips. The sort that told Nikki he was still amused by her attempts to delve deep into her inner psyche and she had an urge to prod his arm. It had taken her a lot to work up to this and here he was amused at her, but before she had the chance he spoke.

‘I know enough about your dad, Nik. I get why you keep an eye on where he is at all times. That’s how you make sure you’re protecting your family. Me? I’m a foster kid. No desire to rehash all of that.’ He smiled. ‘You know, Nik, sharing stuff from the past may well be overrated don’t you think? If it feels right, we can talk about it, but it doesn’t need to be like some therapy session. Let’s just be us. We’re good being us.’

Nikki could have kissed him. Why had it taken her so long to realize that Marcus got her … warts and all.

‘Come on. It’s freezing here. Let’s get you fed and watered.’

Nikki got out of the car, yawned, and after glancing towards her sister’s house, looked across the car roof at Marcus. ‘You noticed him too? Yousaf?’

Marcus’s shrugged his lips tight. ‘He’d have been less noticeable if he’d driven a quad bike down the street. Tosser, what did he look like in that bloody parka?’

Nikki grinned. Sometimes it was good to be part of a team. ‘You thought I’d storm over there and cause a scene?’

‘Well, I thought the temptation to tie his balls round his neck and strangle him might prove too much for you to resist, that’s all.’ Marcus walked round the car and slipped his arm through hers. ‘We could still do it if you like? How would the lying piece of shit explain that to his wife?’

Nikki laughed, the sound feeling good as it left her chest. Today had been crap, but here she was able to laugh and that was good. She was getting there. ‘Haqib’s dating Glass’s sister.’

Marcus stopped and turned to look at her. ‘So that’s where the little shit’s been sneaking off to these past few nights. He’s going to end up mince, Nik.’

It felt good to share so she filled him in on what had happened. She hadn’t quite sorted out her feelings about the Felicity, Fliss, Springer abduction, so she glossed over that with a ‘Can you believe that woman’s called Fliss? Fliss? I’m not lying, you know?’

Marcus threw his head back and laughed, the sound warm and rich, and Nikki’s heart thrummed.

Not sure what had made her broach the subject, Nikki squeezed his hand. Maybe it was Springer’s abduction, maybe it was Haqib’s love life, maybe it was the unknown threat that hovered over Bradford’s streets or maybe it was seeing that her sister was still in a relationship with an idiot who didn’t deserve her. Whatever it was, she just needed to let Marcus know that she was there for him. That although she only gave him snippets of her past, he could tell her anything. They’d been together off and on for twelve years now, but over the past year their relationship had settled into something permanent. Nikki wasn’t good at permanent, but she didn’t want to fuck this up. She didn’t want to lose Marcus, because she couldn’t share … she needed him to know she was there for him. That she was all in.

‘Nah, not just about that. Just stuff. I … you know … like … I care about you.’

Marcus. Leaned over and kissed her cold cheek. ‘I love you too, Nikki Parekh.’

How lucky was she to have a man who understood her so completely? She turned until their lips met and kissed him back. Funny she no longer felt hungry. ‘I’ll trade your Sunday roast for breakfast in bed tomorrow if we can go straight upstairs now.’

Marcus didn’t need asking twice.

MONDAY 16TH MARCH 2020

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.