Rip Current: a gripping crime suspense drama Page 4

  ‘Listen here, Immi, I think you’ve done enough. You need to tell me how you know the names of those in the house, and exactly how you’re going to get your father to the house this evening. Furthermore, even if he does show up, we might find that these girls aren’t illegal, aren’t sex slaves, and—’

  ‘And he’s visiting his cousin Matilda for tea and cake?’

  I thump my fist on the desk. ‘Yes, for all we know!’

  Unperturbed, Immi says, ‘Well that’s impossible because he doesn’t have a cousin Matilda.’

  Despite everything a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I make my mouth straight and say, ‘Sorry, but you’re really not funny. Imagine what would happen if we go in there all guns blazing and everything is perfectly innocent? He would have our guts on a plate.’

  There’s a long silence and then Immi says, ‘You know as well as I do that things in there are about as far away from innocent as they can get. I can’t tell you how I know the names and what I’m going to do, because the less you know the better. You can’t be compromised. I realise that your job is important and I want you to keep it. When you get my call, tell the DCI you have to have the manpower right away … say it’s a now or never situation.’

  I say nothing. My head says no, but my heart says yes. I know that Mark won’t act unless he has more information, so that leaves me. Me out on a limb. Me authorising a ‘raid’ to all intents and purposes with no warrant, no concrete proof. Me without a job. Then I think about those poor girls, Kenny Ransom’s self-satisfied grin the last time he walked free from the courtroom, my dad the good bent copper, and before I have time to change my mind I say, ‘I’ll wait for your call.’

  7

  ‘A tip off, Mr Ransom?’

  ‘Yes, would you know anything about that, Nathan?’

  ‘No. No idea.’

  ‘There’s not that many people who know about the house on Westmorland. You are one of them.’

  Nathan doesn’t like the suspicious tone in Ransom’s voice. ‘Yeah, but I haven’t had anything to do with what goes on there … in fact I didn’t know about it until you sent me there the other month to collect some money. Jason, the one you normally use, was sick, remember?’

  ‘Yes. You told nobody about that?’

  Nathan wishes he had told the police once he clocked those poor girls, but of course he’d kept his mouth shut as usual. ‘No, Mr Ransom … could it be a punter?’

  ‘Punters don’t know my telephone number, nor my business.’

  ‘Jason?’

  ‘He was here with me at the time of the call.’

  ‘Right. Well, what exactly did he say when he called?’

  ‘Used one of those voice disguisers – sounded all metallic like. He said that Jozef and Marta are ripping me off. They’re pocketing some of the earnings. They said that if I ask, they’ll say business isn’t as good as it was. Say the girls are getting tired, that we need fresh ones.’

  ‘But how does he know all this?’

  ‘Exactly, Sherlock. That’s what I’d like to know. He also said that he wants in on it. Says he’s always been loyal to me and can run the house better than those two clowns. He’ll expect a bit more cash though, he’s worth it, you see. I’m to go there at nine tonight. Apparently I’ll catch Marta and Jozef red-handed. He knows where they’ve stashed my money too. He’ll call me when I’m there.’

  Nathan has the awful idea that Ransom thinks it’s him. He doesn’t know what to say next. ‘I expect you’ll just have to go and see?’

  ‘You’re loyal too, aren’t you, Nathan?’ Ransom’s voice is menacing.

  Nathan’s heart sinks. ‘Of course, Mr Ransom, but it isn’t me.’

  ‘Hmm. Someone I know, though, because they needed to disguise their voice.’

  ‘But that doesn’t make sense, because you’ll have to know who it is in the end, won’t you? You know, if you’re going to work with them after you get rid of the two that run it now?’

  Ransom pauses. Nathan can almost hear the cogs turning. ‘Yes, unless he’s hedging his bets. He might think I’ll be angry that he’s trying to call the shots. Have me running round there waiting for his call. Maybe he thinks that once I calm down after being double-crossed I’d be grateful to him, but angry at the time. Maybe he only knows half a story and is just guessing what Jozef and Marta are up to. Fuck knows! But one thing’s for sure, you’re coming with me.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want backup, of course. Jason’s coming too.’

  Nathan thinks it’s because he doesn’t believe him, still suspects him and wants him within grabbing distance. But he says, ‘Okay, see you at the house in a few hours.’

  ‘Be there, Nathan, or I’ll have your balls.’

  Nathan listens to the disconnect tone. He feels the same – disconnected from the whole scene. He knows Ransom, knows his unpredictable moods. Nathan is worried that if Ransom’s convinced it’s him behind it, he might be on the receiving end of his tongue or worse. Jason’s fist too. He can hold his own, but it won’t be good, whatever happens. Shit. He needs to get out of this somehow. He sinks down on his sofa and closes his eyes, thinks. Eventually he dreams up some semblance of a plan. For his own sake, it has to work.

  How many times have I walked past Mark Bradley’s office now? Must be at least three. The last time he raised a questioning eyebrow but I just nodded and smiled. Why is he still here at this time? He was supposed to be gone by six tonight. Some university graduation party for his daughter, wasn’t it? It would be much easier if he’d gone, because I could justify acting on my instincts – I couldn’t possibly disturb DCI Bradley at home you see, and besides, he knew about what was happening, trusts me to act on it implicitly, blah, blah.

  The clock on the office wall says 7.30 and I’m running out of time. My heart is keeping time with the second hand. Tick, tick, tick. Shit, this is no good; I have to go and speak to Mark. I knock on his door and he beckons me in through the glass panel. I walk in, though I don’t know how I get my leaden legs to move. Nausea rises in my throat. He looks up from his desk, his face expressionless. ‘Thought you were going to a party, sir,’ I say in a high voice, a too-bright smile on my face.

  ‘Turns out it’s tomorrow. I got the date wrong.’ He frowns and folds his arms. ‘Okay, what’s up?’

  ‘Nothing really,’ I say quickly and lean my hands on the back of the chair in front of his desk. I need all the support I can get. ‘In fact, things might be really good in a few hours. You see, Imogen Ransom just phoned to say that if we turn up at Westmorland Street tonight we’ll catch her father there.’

  Mark rolls his eyes. ‘Not this again. You want me to spend time and money sending a squad round on the say-so of his daughter? How do we know he’ll turn up and what time?’

  ‘Imogen said he’ll be there around nine, but that she’ll contact me as soon as he’s gone in, just to be sure.’

  ‘But how does she know?’ Mark strokes his hand quickly over his balding head a few times – a gesture I’ve seen so many times. It usually means that he’s unsure but prepared to listen.

  ‘Again, she’s unwilling to tell me because she says the less I know, the better it will be.’

  He narrows his eyes. ‘That’s because she’s doing something illegal, isn’t it?’

  ‘I doubt it, boss.’ My voice sounds normal, calm. I need an Oscar.

  ‘I don’t like it, Bryony. If this goes tits up we’ll be in the shit. You do realise that?’

  ‘I do. But I think it’s worth the risk. We won’t get a chance like this again.’ My gaze holds his for a few seconds. It feels as though his mind is reaching into mine.

  Just as I’m about to look away, he says, ‘I’ll authorise it.’ At first I can’t quite believe my ears, and then I feel a huge smile split my face. He stands up and jabs a finger at me. ‘But if this does cover us in shit, you’re the one cleaning it up. Do I make myse
lf clear?’

  ‘Oh, absolutely, sir.’ I make my face solemn and scuttle out of there before he can say anything else.

  Anya has one more client this evening. He has been here before and he is one of the worst. Old enough to be her grandfather, fat, smelly and disgusting. She can feel the bile rising in her throat at the very thought of him. He’s due at nine; twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to prepare her mind … to try and put some defence mechanisms in place. At times like this it’s best to imagine that the act is happening to someone else. That her body is someone else’s and her mind is free to be anywhere it chooses. Often she’s back home in Poland, at the café with friends, or she’s at university here, like she was supposed to be.

  How could Marta betray her family like that? Pretending she could come here to study and then cruelly send pictures back home of her supposedly studying. Marta was family too. Okay, a distant second cousin of her father’s, but family all the same. And the lies. The lies that Anya has to tell her mother every time they speak on the phone. Yes, everything is fine, great in fact. The course is good, I have made friends. No need at all to worry. I will be home to visit soon, probably in the next holidays. Then the next holiday comes and more lies. Sorry, she has a part-time job, things are more expensive than she imagined, so she can’t come back just yet. No, please don’t send money …

  Anya sighs and shakes her head. The preparation isn’t working today. Ten more minutes and the client will be here. There’s a knock at the door and her heart plummets. He’s early. She stands and smooths out her top, tries desperately to shift her mind out of her body. Jozef answers the door and a stocky, smartly dressed man in his fifties sweeps past him followed by another man, a tall, ape-like guy in his twenties. He’s been here before to collect money. The first man has too; she has seen him briefly through a crack in a door. He is the boss … the man with all the power.

  ‘Where’s Marta?’ the boss asks. He has an air of importance, a man to be reckoned with. Anya notices that his silver hair is expertly cut and styled, and a waft of expensive cologne cuts the air when he raises his hand to his chin.

  Jozef looks like he’s in front of a headmaster. ‘She’s upstairs I think, Mr Ransom.’

  Anya gasps as Mr Ransom’s hand flies smartly to Jozef’s cheek. ‘Then go and fucking get her, you dumbo!’

  The ape looks across at Anya, looks her up and down, winks suggestively. Anya looks at the floor and sits back at the table. Jozef runs upstairs, calling Marta with every step. The urgency in his voice soon pulls Marta behind him downstairs. Anya can feel Mr Ransom’s steely grey eyes on her, but she daren’t look up.

  ‘Mr Ransom. How nice to see you—’ Marta begins; her breathy simper sickens Anya.

  ‘Cut the crap. A little bird tells me you’ve been pulling the wool over my eyes,’ Mr Ransom says, and drags a chair from the table she’s sitting at over the stone floor. The scraping sets Anya’s teeth on edge. He sits down opposite.

  ‘A bird? Wool? I’m not sure what this means, Mr—’

  ‘You’ve lived in this country thirty years, you stupid bitch. You know exactly what I mean.’ Mr Ransom’s voice sounds harder on her ears than the scraping noise. ‘Jozef’s in with you too, so it seems.’

  ‘But I, we …’ Marta looks at Jozef ‘… would never do such a thing.’

  Jozef wrings his hands and nods vigorously. ‘No, we would never pull the wool.’

  The ape sniggers.

  ‘What is it we are supposed to have done, Mr Ransom?’ Marta says quietly.

  ‘You are supposed to be keeping some money back for yourselves. Money that these lovely ladies earn for me.’ Anya feels a finger under her chin and her face is raised to the scrutiny of his gaze. She swallows when she sees desire take the place of curiosity.

  ‘But we would never do this. Not ever!’ Marta shrieks. Jozef adds his vehement assent.

  Mr Ransom’s phone rings and he answers it. ‘Oh, well isn’t that convenient, Nathan? Your car breaks down just as you’re meant to be here!’ Anya sees a tic in his cheek start to jump. ‘Oh, the breakdown men gave you a report if I’d like to see it? Why, yes, yes I would like to see it. Get a fucking taxi and bring it here right this—’ A knock on the door halts his words. Mr Ransom pockets the phone and nods to the ape. ‘Answer it.’

  Anya hears a man’s voice say, ‘DS Prosser, CID. Would you be kind enough to answer a few of our questions?’

  Mr Ransom scrapes back the chair again and rushes to the back door. A few moments later he’s back between two of the tallest policemen Anya has ever seen. They’re wearing padded jackets and helmets with visors and Mr Ransom looks very small sandwiched between them. Two men come in behind the ape and flash their ID at Mr Ransom, Marta and Jozef. Before they can say anything, the dark-haired lady with the striking features Anya saw the other day comes in too. She takes out her badge and says, ‘DI Masters.’ She looks directly at the man between the two policemen and gives him a cold smile. ‘Well, if it isn’t Mr Kenneth Ransom. What a surprise.’

  8

  The word on the street has it that Kenny Ransom is under arrest and is likely to go down. Nathan hasn’t heard anything directly from Ransom for ten days and, though he desperately wants to know, he won’t risk contacting any of Ransom’s known associates. Especially not Frank Dawson, his second in command. If the police are rounding Ransom’s mates up, he doesn’t want his number to be amongst their recent phone records. The word on the street is actually just a whisper in alleyways, pubs and drug-dealing circuits. Nathan believes it, though, because this is the longest he’s not heard from Ransom for years. Thank God he wasn’t at the house when the police came, because he has no doubt whatsoever that Kenny would take him down with him if he could.

  Relief and anxiety have been fighting for dominance in Nathan’s head for the last few days. Relief that he might at last be out of Ransom’s grasp and free to make a real life for himself, and anxiety at the thought of doing just that. Where had he been working for the last thirteen years since he dropped out of his business studies course? How had he got by? No respectable employer would just take him on without references, would they? How has he paid his rent? Has he paid taxes? And Mum. What will happen to her? The house she lives in is owned by Ransom. If he arranges for it to be sold, what then? On balance, Nathan thinks that anxiety has won.

  The view from his top floor flat takes in three of the seven surrounding hills and a wide sweep of the outskirts of the city of Sheffield. Old red brick jostles against new glass and tower block, spires stretch to clouds, and, from this distance and in the silence, everything looks peaceful. Calm. Gazing at the red and yellow streaked sky left behind by the retiring sun, he wishes he’d had the guts to turn his back on the criminal subculture he’d grown up within. His dad had told him to keep away, stay clean, and not to end up like him, but Nathan had seen it as an easy option. Easy money. It’s not so easy now, is it? In fact, where his next meal was coming from would fast become a problem. He’s got a few savings, but they’re for the future. The shack on the beach? Yeah, right.

  The doorbell rings. Nathan’s heart drums in his chest as he creeps towards the door. He isn’t expecting anyone; nobody has left a message on his phone. The fish-eye lens shows a distorted Jason Connor. Nathan thinks it improves his looks. He’s alone … hopefully. Nathan takes a deep breath and opens up.

  ‘Alright?’ Jason says by way of a greeting and walks straight in.

  ‘Come in, why don’t you?’ Nathan mutters and has a quick glance up and down the corridor. Jason is alone. Good.

  ‘You heard what’s happened to old man Kenny?’ Jason’s in the living room, picking up an ornament of a dolphin his mum once bought him, looking underneath it, twirling it in his big meaty hands.

  Jason wouldn’t be calling his boss ‘old man Kenny’ if he were anywhere near him, unless he wanted to meet his maker early. ‘I heard that he was most likely going to be sent down.’ Nathan retrieves the dolphin and sets it back do
wn on the mantelshelf.

  ‘Could well be.’ Jason lets his bulk flop down into Nathan’s best armchair; the springs groan in protest. ‘Frank Dawson’s running things for him now. You wouldn’t know that Ken had gone. Right smooth operator is Frank.’

  Nathan sighs inwardly. Something must be wrong if Frank Dawson hadn’t seen fit to contact him and explain that he’d be taking over for a while. He sits down on the settee opposite Jason. ‘I wondered what was happening. Nobody let me know anything.’

  Jason leans forward, elbows on knees, a nasty glint in his eyes. ‘Well, that’s why I’m here. Frank told me to come over and tell you that Kenny is a bit unhappy with you. In fact, he’s starting to think you might have set him up. You might have been the disguised voice on the phone last week. You might have got him there, called plod and got him lifted.’

  Nathan’s mouth drops open. His mind races. Okay, at the time perhaps Nathan thought Kenny suspected it could have been him on the phone, but not this fairy story. ‘What? Why the fuck would I do that?’

  ‘He doesn’t know.’ Jason flops back again and spreads his arms wide. ‘But it did look a bit sus’, didn’t it? You supposed to meet us there at the whore house and then you ring up with some shit about a car breaking down.’

  ‘It did break down! I have the report from the breakdown guy to prove it!’ Nathan scrubs his hands through his dark blond hair in frustration and then rubs his cheeks to disguise the heat spreading through them. He never was much good at lying to someone’s face.

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’ Jason holds his hands up in mock surrender.

  ‘You were lucky to get off the hook though, weren’t you?’ Nathan’s words are thick with implication and it isn’t lost on Jason.