Time to Play (North East Police) (5 page)

Muffled sounds invaded Elvie’s sleep – a whimper, the sound of feet scuffling on carpet. She remembered a hint of a thought from earlier; something bad was going to happen but it stayed just out of her mind’s reach.

Forcing her eyes open, she gasped as she saw the two men from the truck half-carrying, half-dragging Nita between them. Elvie couldn’t understand why Nita didn’t even struggle. She looked fast asleep.

Elvie pulled herself to her feet and launched herself at the man nearest to her. It was the skinny one who had kicked her, and she grabbed his face with her fingernails and scraped them down his cheek.

‘Argh,’ he grunted, dropping Nita’s shoulder and turning to face Elvie. He was angry, and she saw his eyes glint with evil as he came towards her. She took a step backwards, terrified. The back of her knees connected with the edge of the bed and she couldn’t go any further. She whimpered as the man raised his arm and smacked her in the face, hard.

The force of the blow flung Elvie backwards and onto the mattress. Her face burned and she felt tears fill her eyes. No one had ever hit her before.

‘Maybe I’ll show you just how pissed off I am,’ growled the man, reaching to unbuckle the belt around his waist.

‘Gaz. Leave it.’ The warning came from the other man, the one holding Nita up. ‘Boss said no touching.’

The man in front of her leaned forward until he was so close she could feel his breath on her lips. She couldn’t have moved if she tried, terror had her paralysed.
What’s he going to do? Why did he unhook his belt?

‘One day, I’m going to have you. And fat boy over there ain’t gunna be here to stop me,’ he whispered.

Elvie didn’t follow all of his words, but she understood the meaning.

Her breath whooshed out as he stood and strode to the door, slamming it shut behind him with such force that it rattled the tiny window built into the roof. The lock clicked into place and Elvie was alone.

It took a few minutes before she could move again, and she put her hand to her face. She winced as her fingers found the area he had struck her. It throbbed painfully and felt warm to the touch. Tears filled her eyes again but this time she fought them back. It was time to stop being a child. Crying was pointless. She needed to figure a way out of this room to start with and then she needed to get some help.

But who will help me? The police? They’ll be the same here as they are at home, anything overlooked for the right price. Who will help me, Noni?

Her brow furrowed in concentration as she considered what to do.
If only Noni hadn’t died then none of this would be happening.

Sitting back against the wall, she pulled her knees to her chest and hugged herself tightly.
How will I get out of this?

3
^rd
November, 0005 hours – Wear Street, Sunderland

Gaz and the other man, Danny, held Nita between them and made their way quickly from the van through the faded front door to the terraced house on Wear Street. Nobody would notice them, even if it was daylight; the area was rough and there was a code, a form of honour amongst those destined to live on the other side of the law. No one would tell, even if they knew what was happening inside the dingy house.

They dragged Nita through the porch and into the hall. Wallpaper hung off the walls, peeling and damp-smelling. A small table had been placed at the foot of the stairs and a Filipino woman sat filing her nails. She glanced up as they approached.

‘Attic. Rocko want her there for training.’ She pointed towards the stairs, needle scars evident along the pale inside of her arm. If you looked closely you’d see the pin prick of her pupils; if she’d opened her mouth her teeth would have been discoloured and missing in places. She looked about fifty years old, but she was only twenty-one. She’d lived in houses like this one since she had been fourteen. Then, she hadn’t been allowed to leave. Now, she chose to stay because they fed her habit.

Gaz and Danny pretty much carried Nita up the bare stairs to the room right at the top. The other doors in the house were all closed. Muffled sounds came from behind some of the doors. The rest were silent.

The attic walls were covered in thick grey material, the kind used to soundproof music studios. There was a chair with straps on in the centre of the room, and a computer desk in the corner. A small unit was beside one wall, and it was stiflingly warm. The men dropped Nita onto the chair and Gaz applied the straps, then turned towards the man who was seated at the desk.

Rocko.

His very name brought about shivers of fear in the circles they ran. He was a hard-arse, took no shit from anyone, and was rumoured to have killed men just for looking at him wrong.

‘Is she ready for me?’ he asked, without turning around.

‘She’s still out cold,’ said Danny, suppressing a shudder. He hated what Rocko did in here, how he ‘taught’ the girls he was brought. His methods were hands on, and Danny had no inclination to stay. He’d stayed just once, and it was enough to make him sick to his stomach. He wouldn’t want to be the girl right now. Taking debts with the wrong people meant he had to transport the girls; that was his repayment. And it didn’t matter how far away he tried to run, there was always someone waiting to bring him back.

Danny sighed and turned to leave.

‘You not gunna stay and watch? It cracks me up,’ Gaz nudged Danny in the ribs as he spoke, an evil leer passing over his face as he nodded towards Rocko.

‘No,’ said Danny curtly, leaving the room and clicking the door shut. His partner was a dick, a complete and utter jerk. Danny had to practically lift Gaz’s jaw off the floor every time they picked girls up, and every time he wanted to punch his lights out. The girls didn’t deserve the lives they were brought into the country to lead. But what could he do about it? He owed the bosses, and they knew everything about him.

The last time he’d tried to leave the fold, they’d kidnapped his girlfriend. She’d been seven months pregnant at the time. They’d threatened to cut the baby out of her and put her to work in a house just like this one if he ever tried to leave again.

So he stayed. Because he had to.

Sighing again, he hung his head and made his way back outside to the van.

3
^rd
November, 0007 hours – Wear Street, Sunderland

Back in the attic, Rocko finally looked up from his computer. ‘You staying?’ he asked Gaz who nodded silently. ‘Good, then wake the bitch up.’

He watched as Gaz moved to the side of the bed and flattened his palm. It connected with the side of Nita’s face with a resounding slap, causing her to gasp in shock. As she saw the two men in the room, she opened her mouth to scream. Moving like lightening, Rocko put a hand over her face, squeezing hard.

‘One sound from you, bitch, and I will cut your tongue out.’

There was no way Nita could understand his words, they were in English, but he saw the fearful acceptance in her eyes. Rocko eyed Gaz thoughtfully. One of the two delivery men would go far in the organisation, and Rocko knew it would be Gaz. It was obvious he got off on the pain, and they needed loyal people.

Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to get started, Rocko said, ‘Hold her arm out for me. She needs her first dose of brown sugar.’ He checked the tension and deftly tied a piece of elastic round the top of her arm. ‘First we get her high, then she’ll start to learn the trade for which she has been employed.’ He pushed the needle into the vein in Nita’s arm, and loosened the elastic. Stepping back, he watched as her pupils dilated and her mind floated elsewhere.

‘Fill your boots,’ he said to Gaz, nodding towards Nita’s spaced-out body. ‘Nothing too kinky, and don’t mark her.’ Leaving Gaz in the attic, Rocko left the room. He wasn’t in the mood anyway; fucking the new girls was often best left to other staff. And he had several he knew would get the job done. He partook occasionally, but only with the extra special ones. The one’s that still had the spark of fight left in them. And they only came along once in a blue moon.

He left the building by the back door, climbed into the red Shogun and left the alley with a squeal of rubber.

Chapter Four

3
^rd
November, 0620 hours – Connor’s parent’s house, Sunderland

‘Come on, Mum. It’s time to get dressed then we’ll get you into your chair by the window and you can watch for the postman. You like that, don’t you?’ Connor spoke softly to his mum who was laid on the bed facing the window.

His dad had called him in a panic saying she wouldn’t get up and she was having an episode. He’d cried on the phone, breaking Connor’s heart. And Connor, ever the dutiful son, had gone round to his parents’ to help.

He sighed as he watched his mother turn her head towards him, suspicion in her eyes as she snapped, ‘Who are you? I’m not getting up and dressed in front of some stinking man I don’t even know, I’ll call my son, he’s a policeman you know. Now GET OUT!’

Her shrill voice turned to a scream as she launched herself off the bed and went for his face with her nails outstretched.

‘Mum, please. Stop. It’s me, it’s Connor.’

He gripped her wrists less gently than he would have liked, knowing her to be stronger than her slim frame suggested.

Eventually she stilled and her eyes cleared, gazing at him. ‘There’s my boy,’ she whispered, giving him a watery smile, ‘So grown up. Where’s your dress up box? Let’s see my handsome man in his police uniform.’

Connor swallowed at the lump in his throat. His mum would jump from one memory to the next in the blink of an eye. Just once, he wished she’d jump back into the present.

Without further incident, he managed to get her dressed and seated in her favourite armchair, which was inside the bay window of the front room. His feet heavy, he wandered into the kitchen to see his dad.

‘Sorry, Son, some days it’s all I can do not to walk out of that door. She hit me. She always has to hit me.’

His father sounded so desperately sad as he rubbed his hand subconsciously over the bruise to his cheek.

‘Maybe it’s time to think about a home again, I mean she’s not getting any better, Dad, and –’

‘No. Whatever she did, she’s still my wife. In sickness and in health. That’s what I promised. She’ll be fine tomorrow.’

Connor shook his head in frustration, ‘No she won’t. She’ll never be fine, Dad. There are homes where people are trained to take care of people as ill as she is, nice ones where she’d be looked after and –’

‘I said NO!’ shouted his dad, ‘And that’s the end of it. I will not put my wife in a damn home to rot away with people who don’t know her. Besides, Fred is coming round soon. She’s always better when Fred’s here.’

Sadness threatened to overwhelm Connor. He hated seeing his mum this way, and hated how his dad refused to listen to reason. But while his mother was ill, his father certainly was not. It didn’t matter how many times Connor broached the subject of a home, the answer was always the same.

Sighing, he said, ‘I’ve gotta get to work, Dad. I’ll see you soon, OK?’

He saw his dad nod once, then Connor turned and left the room. He planted a kiss on his mother’s forehead as he walked past, and with his shoulders drooping, he made his way to the car.

Life sucks.

3rd November, 1410 hours – Sunderland City Police HQ

‘Damn and blasted file boxes in this day and age. I thought everything was supposed to be computerised,’ grumbled Ali as he carried three boxes, all balanced precariously one on top of the next. ‘Trust the maintenance men to take the lift offline today of all bloody days.’ He couldn’t even see over the top box, and made his way cautiously up the stairs, keeping his left shoulder to the wall to keep him steady.

He made it to the top of the stairs without incident, and used his hip to wedge open the door to the corridor. A little wobbly, he managed to navigate through, though the top box was threatening to make the long jump to the carpeted floor. Feeling it start to slip, Ali jolted his body to the opposite side, hoping to right the balance. He had no way of seeing Marlo heading down the corridor, or the mobile phone in her hand that held her attention.

The sudden impact was swift, and the top box fell to the ground with a clatter, spreading case files and crime scene photos across the carpet. The middle box teetered as Ali peered over the top and saw Marlo on the floor.

‘Shit, Marlo, are you OK?’ He put the other two boxes down and held out a hand to help her up.

‘Jesus, why don’t you watch where you’re going you clumsy –’ Ali watched as her cheeks grew pink and her blue eyes sparkled, initially angry but then easing off.

‘Sorry, I erm, wasn’t watching where I was going.’ He pulled his hand back as she hauled herself to her knees, ignoring him, and started scooping up his files. ‘I don’t know what order they were in but I’m sure you can put them right. That’s everything I think.’

He grinned at her, somewhat amused as she haphazardly plonked everything inside the box and picked it up to hand it to him.

‘Actually, would you mind carrying it to the Major Incident Team office? I’d rather not have any more accidents.’ She nodded, and Ali turned and picked up the other two boxes. Making general conversation he added, ‘They’re files from a murder a few months back. We’ve had an enquiry from Hertfordshire Police about a rape with similar MO in their area. Might be the same guy.’

His face took on a pained expression, but Marlo was in front of him and didn’t notice. ‘Ah, the one that got away. Bit of a mess that.’ She pushed open the office door and held it for him to pass through.

Ali saw her shoulders tense as she said the second sentence, and intuitively knew she hadn’t meant it to sound so flippant. Even so, his reply was curt. ‘Just put the box on the table.’