Speechless Read online

  ‘There’s a visitor in reception.’ The voice said the words carefully.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘That Polish bloke who’s been here before.’

  Satisfied that the tea was a decent colour, I threw the teabag into a redundant ice cream tub on the worktop. I contemplated how long my patience would last with Kamil and decided that he’d get five minutes, maximum.

  Kamil paced around the room, once again chewing his nails. His hair was longer and the artificial light in the room glistened on the three days of stubble clinging to his face.

  ‘I must know what happening,’ he said as I sat down.

  Three minutes now: even less if he kept up his attitude. I blew on the hot tea and took a sip.

  ‘We’ve got an ongoing investigation.’

  ‘I work in hotels,’ he said. ‘I heard that lockers broken into. What is happening? What have you found out?’

  I sat back in my chair.

  ‘I can’t tell you anything about the investigation—’

  ‘But I am afraid.’

  He’d stopped pacing and sat on a flimsy plastic chair.

  ‘I know, but there’s nothing—’

  ‘I could be next. They kill me.’

  ‘Who?’

  He knitted his fingers together and averted his eye contact. ‘Have you found anything from lockers?’

  ‘It’s too early to say if anything is missing yet.’

  ‘Who else had lockers? I tell all my friends from Poland to come and ask you.’

  I held up a hand. The last thing I wanted was hundreds of Polish people lining up in reception.

  ‘We’ve got the names of everyone who had staff lockers so we’ll contact them in due course.’

  I stood up and walked to the door, which I held open for Kamil.

  ‘I’ve got work to do.’

  * * *

  Woods and Lawson sat in the Incident Room, turning biros nervously through their fingers. Boyd had a hungry look in his eyes as he fiddled with an unopened bag of fruit.

  I stood at the board that Boyd had been decorating with various photographs and names of victims and a list of hotels printed in a large font.

  ‘Have you had the final list of all the lockers?’ I said to Woods.

  ‘Last one should be in later.’

  ‘Divide it between you and Joe,’ I said, nodding at Lawson. ‘And then go after every name on the list.’

  ‘Do you want us to go after the shops again?’ Lawson said.

  ‘After you’ve done the lists. And go and see that priest again. He might have more to tell us.’

  Boyd started chewing on an apple.

  ‘Any luck with digging into Frankie?’ I said to Boyd.

  He swallowed. ‘It’s taking longer than I thought.’

  Everything about the investigation was taking longer than we had anticipated and with the paperwork and statements multiplying there was nothing I could do except wait. I finished the briefing and got back to my room as a woman wearing a powder-blue suit, perfect make-up and high heels, stood by the door.

  ‘Inspector Marco. Sue Pennington from PR.’ She walked into the room and held out her hand. ‘I need to talk to you about the Polish murders. The press are going to run a piece and we need to prepare a statement.’

  An hour passed with Sue who nodded occasionally, then narrowed her eyes as she concentrated on what I was telling her before scribbling notes on a large legal pad.

  ‘So there’s nothing we can say really that’s very positive.’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said, regretting that I somehow sounded complacent.

  ‘Do you think there’s any chance of catching the perpetrator?’

  I hesitated, wanting to tell her that we’d catch the killer really soon and that they’d be behind bars, the public protected, the reputation of the Wales Police Service enhanced and those who questioned devolving police responsibility to Wales, silenced.

  ‘It’s slow progress.’

  * * *

  Dagmara’s text had said three p.m.

  But I arrived at Leftie’s Lounge ten minutes early. She sat in a corner sipping a glass of juice and smiled when she saw me. I sank into the warm leather of the sofa by her side. She’d drawn her hair back and I followed the clear line of her jaw and saw a nervous twitch ripple the skin.

  ‘She might not come,’ she said slowly. ‘She does not trust the police.’

  I nodded. I knew from the Amnesty report that getting the girls to give evidence was the main obstacle to prosecution. The report had made depressing reading and, with resources scarce, the work of investigating human trafficking was a low priority. And even when there were girls willing to give evidence, the WPS didn’t have the backup support, no safe-house, no counsellors and too few interpreters.

  Dagmara kept alternating glances between the door and her watch. We were meeting the Amnesty worker and a girl from Romania who was willing to talk to me. Nothing more at this stage. The bar filled with women hauling designer shopping bags, ordering coffees from the newly installed machine and men in suits loosening ties and shirt buttons.

  ‘Maybe she not come,’ Dagmara said. She sat very still on the edge of her seat, her legs tucked against the leather.

  ‘Let’s give it some more time.’

  Dagmara had a warm, open face that loved to smile. ‘I love working here,’ she said. ‘It is better than back home. Do you have family?’

  ‘A son. Dean – he lives with his mother and her new husband in Basingstoke.’

  She frowned slightly.

  ‘Basingstoke. Is that far? Do you see him very often?’

  ‘Not as often as I should.’

  ‘I would love to have children some day.’

  ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

  She looked me straight in the eye, another smile. Then she shook her head. She laughed at my jokes and enjoyed hearing about my family. Occasionally, Dagmara touched my arm and I found myself thinking how I could spend more time with her.

  ‘She is twenty minutes late?’ she asked, looking at her watch. ‘Do you think we should call her?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  She drew her mobile out of her bag, and scrolled down the numbers in the memory, but as she did so it rang. She pressed the phone to one ear and her hand to the other to block out the noise in the bar. Once the call was finished she turned towards me.

  ‘We have to go to another place,’ she said, a serious tone to her voice.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Anna from Amnesty wants to see us somewhere else.’

  We followed the narrow passage out into the main street; the traffic was building and the street was full of taxis and vans queuing by the traffic lights. She hurried to cross the road as the pedestrian lights changed to red.

  ‘It’s not far away,’ she said.

  Eventually we walked onto Newport Road and Dagmara increased her pace until she turned right, away from the main traffic into the terraces that marked the beginning of Splott. The houses were small and the pavements uneven.

  ‘Not long. Not too far,’ she said, flashing me a smile.

  We rounded a corner and she slowed before turning into a side alley. Immediately we were standing before a small sandwich shop, its window damp with condensation.

  Dagmara pushed open the glass door and a tall man with designer stubble, and wearing a full-length apron that once had stripes, gave her an inquisitive look as though he was surprised to see her. She ignored him, looked into the café, and saw Anna sitting in the far corner.

  I put enough money for two coffees onto the glass top and the man nodded an acknowledgment, and told me he’d bring the drinks over.

  I dropped into the seat across from Dagmara, who was sitting by Anna’s side. Anna had a multi-coloured scarf tied in a bundle around her neck and a mass of curls falling over her shoulders. She cupped a mug of a clear liquid with a teabag floating on top that smelt like a mothball from my mother’s old wardrobe.


  ‘Anna,’ I said. ‘Thanks for seeing me. Is—’

  ‘No. She’s too afraid. Wanted me to meet you first.’

  ‘She doesn’t have to be afraid.’

  Anna guffawed. ‘Michal killed and his tongue cut out. And then Leon. Wouldn’t you be scared?’

  Dagmara had taken on a serious look and looked over at me as she gave out a sigh of agreement with Anna. The man from the counter put two chipped mugs onto the table.

  ‘Will she see me?’ I asked.

  ‘Might do. I’ll talk to her again, once I’ve spoken to you.’

  I could sense the annoyance developing in my mind. This wasn’t an interview and I wasn’t going to seek approval from this woman to the way I was conducting the inquiry.

  I made my voice heavy. ‘When?’

  ‘We’ll see. She’s lost weight and she’s been ill. Hasn’t gone down well.’

  I furrowed my eyebrows and Anna continued. ‘It doesn’t do to have the girls losing weight. Punters don’t like them too thin. And the bruises show up too easily.’

  ‘Bruises?’

  ‘Yeh. They get beaten if they fall out of line. Mostly on the back or the head. Somewhere where it’s not too obvious.’

  ‘I’ll need to interview her,’ I said forcefully.

  ‘Sorry, Inspector. She doesn’t have much faith in the Wales Police Service. That goes for me too, when it comes to trafficking human beings. Didn’t they tell you at cop-school that slavery was outlawed a hundred and fifty years ago and that it’s a crime to traffic people and enslave them?’

  She picked up a spoon and poked the teabag.

  ‘Look, I’m investigating two murders. But if there are people involved in trafficking I’ll do everything to get them behind bars for a long time.’

  ‘Come off it. The record of the WPS is pathetic when it comes to tackling the traffickers. Did you know that 85% of the prostitutes in the UK are non-UK nationals and that there are four thousand women trafficked into the UK every year? That’s four thousand slaves.’

  She spat out the last few words and lowered her head to look at the liquid in the mug.

  ‘That’s four thousand lives that have been destroyed,’ Anna continued. ‘Families torn apart. Have you got children, Inspector?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Then I’m sure you’d do everything to try and protect them and make certain they didn’t come to any harm. So they could avoid living in the sort of half-light these girls inhabit.’

  Now I felt resentment that she’d made me feel guilty. I hadn’t seen Dean for… I couldn’t remember. Was it a year? Maybe more. Was it that Christmas when it snowed and the car wouldn’t start and I was late collecting him from Jackie’s parents’ home?

  Anna voice broke into my train of thought. ‘And they don’t hear from them. Nothing: no letter or calls. This is the twenty-first century, John. The age of the mobile telephone.’

  ‘How… I mean, what…?’

  She opened her eyes slightly and stared at me intently with unblinking eyes.

  ‘They’re sold into slavery. Sometimes they’re promised a better life. You know, the offer of work in a restaurant or hotel and great wages if you compare it to the pittance they can earn in their home countries. Then they arrive in the UK and are told they have to work to repay the debt they owe the trafficker for organising their travel.’

  The Amnesty report that had languished at the bottom of the pile on Cornock’s desk had mentioned the difficulties in measuring the extent of the problem, that a multi-agency approach was needed; extra resources allocated from central government and more joined-up thinking was needed. All the usual bullshit for inactivity.

  ‘Amnesty has tracked women from as far as China. They arrive into the UK and then disappear,’ Anna added. ‘Into the backstreet brothels. And then they’re moved from one town to another.’

  ‘It’s a matter of manpower.’

  ‘Fuck that,’ Anna said. ‘What kind of society do we live in where women can be treated as slaves and we do nothing about it?’

  ‘The WPS has budgets and objectives. It’s a matter of priorities,’ I said, sounding like an accountant.

  Anna took a sip from her mug and placed it down on the table.

  ‘Some of the families sell their daughters for money. It helps them make ends meet and pay the bills. Would you sell your child, John?’

  She didn’t wait for me to reply. There was a lump in my throat as I tried again to remember when I’d last spoken to Dean.

  ‘Then when the girls resist, the traffickers tell them they’ll kill their families. So they stay. And even if they could leave, where would they go? There are no safe houses and there’s nobody interested in looking after them. So when they’re picked up in a raid and taken to police stations most are too frightened to say anything and eventually they’re back on the street.’

  ‘So why are we here?’ I wasn’t going to listen to a lecture for hours. I had a killer to find. ‘Does this girl want to help or not? I’ve told you she can trust me and we’ll look after her. You have my word on that.’

  ‘Can you give her a guarantee that she won’t be harmed or killed or that her family won’t be killed or injured?’

  ‘I’ll do my best. Look, there’s a murderer walking the streets of Cardiff and if we don’t stop him there may be other deaths and maybe more of her friends will be killed or injured or maimed. She’s got to trust someone.’

  Anna gave me a surly look and downed the last of the liquid in her mug. Dagmara cleared her throat and made her first contribution.

  ‘There’s so much you don’t know, John. There are lots of dangerous people. We’ve only just begun to find out who’s involved.’

  ‘Are you telling me that you’ve been trying to work out what’s going on?’

  Dagmara and Anna exchanged glances.

  ‘Are you absolutely mad? Two men have been killed and you’re running around like vigilantes in a Hollywood movie. It’s not like that. Something really bad could happen.’

  ‘We want to help,’ Dagmara said.

  ‘Best thing you can do is to get her talk to me so we can investigate. Leave it to us. You’re mixing with some really dangerous people.’

  ‘John. These are people on the edge. The traffickers don’t give a shit about these girls. Somebody has to do something.’

  ‘And that’s got to be the police.’

  Neither said anything, Dagmara wrapped her fingers around her empty mug and Anna tugged at her scarf.

  ‘No more bullshit. I need to see her. Urgently.’

  Chapter 17

  I stood in the doorway of the cell, looking at the Scotsman arrested the night before. A dark-green plastic material covered a thin mattress and a grey blanket was heaped into one corner. The good citizens of the Heath and Cyncoed thought they could all sleep safely in their beds now that the burglar roaming their streets was behind bars. Cornock had left me a soothing message on my voicemail that combined a mixture of congratulation and relief.

  No longer would he be harangued for daily reports from the ACC, or by insistent calls from Wing Commander Bates.

  As I looked at the man sitting in front of me, I had my doubts. He was short and a couple of stone overweight. He had a good week’s growth of stubble and his hair looked a greasy mess.

  ‘Do you want anything?’

  ‘Can of Special Brew,’ he said, deadpan and serious.

  He shuffled into the interview room and sat on one of the plastic chairs. I started with the usual details. Name – Jason Brown. Date of birth – made him thirty-five but he looked fifty. Did he know why he had been arrested? He nodded and gave me a wide-eyed look as though being interviewed by the police was a regular event. I noticed the tattoos on his neck; they matched barely the descriptions in the witness statements.

  ‘What’s your home address?’

  ‘I live with friends.’

  ‘What’s the address?’

  ‘Ah… I can’t remember.�
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  ‘Well, is it in Cardiff?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘What part of Cardiff?’

  He shrugged. I decided to try another approach. ‘Do you know that burglary is a serious matter?’

  He parted his lips, exposing the stumps he had for teeth.

  ‘Can I have some tea?’

  ‘Jason. How do you get home?’

  ‘I walk. Down by the Taff. I see bad fucking things all the time.’

  Eventually Jason gave me the names of people to contact and directions to a house near a big pub with a bright-green sign, but our conversation was cut short when my mobile rang.

  ‘Boss, there’s a body,’ Boyd said.

  * * *

  I had a dozen questions flashing through my mind and the ownership of the amputated tongue was high on the list.

  Boyd stood by the desk in the custody suite, an edgy look on his face. ‘Somebody saw the body floating in one of the docks first thing.’

  ‘First thing?’ I could hear the annoyance in my own voice. ‘For Christ’s sake, Boyd, why weren’t we told earlier? I mean, for fuck’s sake.’ I strode out to the car park, Boyd behind me.

  ‘Can’t we tell those Muppets in Area Control that we’ve got a murder inquiry?’

  ‘They wouldn’t link it to our cases—’

  ‘That’s not the point; we’ve got a current case with a missing body.’

  I shut the car door with a heavy thud and then I fired the engine into life, but the car stalled.

  ‘Have they been able to identify if the tongue has been cut out?’

  ‘Don’t think so.’

  ‘Did you ask?’

  ‘No. I mean, it was—’

  ‘Bloody hell…’ I started the engine again and accelerated the car into the traffic down towards the docks.

  As every junction and set of lights delayed our journey the tension built in my mind. Eventually in the distance I saw the gantries that towered silently over the remains of the docks. Over towards the Bay the Millennium Centre dominated the skyline.

  I braked hard near the Scientific Support Vehicle, left the car, doors open, and jogged over towards the CSIs. Alvine Dix stood over the body and by her side I noticed the familiar figure of Paddy MacVeigh.