‘That’s another step in the right direction. Good luck with it all. Let me know how you get on with the Vice.’
‘Will do. Have you been in touch with the chief?’
Tony closed his eyes momentarily. ‘I saw her earlier. She turned up out of the blue and found me working on your case.’
‘Oh shit,’ Paula said.
‘She’s got bigger things to worry about right now. She’s running away from her emotions. When they finally catch up with her, it’s not going to be pretty.’
‘At least she’s got you in her corner.’
Tony felt the prickle of tears in his throat. ‘Yeah. For what it’s worth. Anyway, you need to get on. Keep me posted.’
He ended the call and turned back to the computer. When all else fails, talk to the machine.
Stacey stared intently at her monitor, occasionally tapping a few keys or clicking her mouse. Ambrose, whose desk was behind hers, looked over from his screen and watched her covertly, admiring the absolute focus she brought to her task. He wished they had an officer like her on their team instead of having to rely on the unreliable Gary Harcup. Gary was good enough, but he wasn’t always around when he was needed, and he certainly couldn’t pull off stuff like this woman could. He wasn’t sure whether all her burrowing was entirely legal, but he didn’t care as long as she came up with the goods and a cover story that would satisfy the CPS and the courts.
As he watched, she pushed back from the screen and turned round, catching him in the act. ‘Result,’ she said, showing none of the triumphalism that normally went with that claim.
‘Really?’ Ambrose got up and went across, peering into her screen. ‘Vinton Woods? What’s that?’
‘An exclusive community within ideal commuting range of Bradfield and Leeds,’ Stacey said. ‘It’s in West Yorkshire, so I guess it’s either part of DCI Franklin’s patch or close to it. I got a fragment of the name from the partially deleted material on Terry Gates’s hard drive and did a universal search of properties that have changed owner at the Land Registry in the past six months. There were a couple of matches, but this is the only one that fits the profile of what would suit Vance.’ She clicked and typed and estate agent’s details of a substantial mock- Victorian house appeared on the screen. ‘This was bought by a company registered in Kazakhstan. The payment came from a Liechtenstein trust who bank in the Cayman Islands. Unravelling all that will take weeks. But it’s exactly the sort of set-up Vance would use to hide behind.’
‘If you say so,’ Ambrose said. ‘It makes my head hurt just thinking about it.’
Stacey shrugged. ‘Well, we know that Vance shipped all his cash offshore after he was arrested, and that there was a lot of it. A house like this would be the perfect base. Even if he’s only here for a matter of weeks, he’s got total control of his bolthole and he’s got an asset he can dispose of when he doesn’t need it any more.’
‘Oh, I believe you,’ Ambrose said. ‘I just can’t get my head round the mind of someone who can be arsed to go to these lengths just for revenge.’
Stacey turned and gave him an indulgent smile. ‘That’s probably quite healthy, skip.’
‘I need to get up there,’ he said.
‘Shouldn’t we get the local lads to keep a discreet eye on it? It’s going to take you at least two hours to get there, even blues-and-twos.’
Ambrose shook his head. ‘This is our pursuit. From what your guv’nor said about Franklin, I don’t trust him not to go in mob-handed like a glory-hunter. This needs careful handling and I think we’ve earned the right to lead it. I’m going up there with a hand-picked team. We’ll call on local support once we know what we’re dealing with.’ He patted her on the shoulder. ‘You’ve done a great job. I’ll make sure my boss knows who’s responsible for this breakthrough. Just don’t speak to Franklin about this. Or any other West Yorkshire detectives.’
Paula hoped someone would be on duty in the Vice squad’s office this late on a Saturday. She expected most of them would be doing whatever it was that off-duty cops got up to on a Saturday night. Anybody working would probably be out on the street on the busiest night of the week for the sex trade. But her luck was in, even if the cop who answered the phone sounded as if he was down to his last shredded nerve. ‘DC Bryant. What do you want?’
Paula identified herself and her unit. ‘I need some info,’ she finished up.
‘Paula McIntyre? You’re the one who got nailed in that undercover that went tits-up a while back, aren’t you?’ His tone was accusing, as if it was somehow her fault that her colleagues’ cock-up had nearly cost her her life. Even thinking about it made the back of her neck sweat.
‘And you’re the division who supplied the detective who caused the problem, but I’m not going to hold that against you,’ she snapped back at him.
‘There’s no need to be like that,’ he grumbled. ‘So what do you need to know?’
‘Does anybody keep intel on new girls on the street?’ she asked.
‘What kind of intel?’
‘Names. Background, that sort of thing. How long they’ve been on the game. Or at least, how long you’ve known about them.’
He sniffed loudly. ‘We’re not fucking social workers, you know.’
‘Believe me, that never crossed my mind. Do you have any intel like that or not?’
‘The sarge keeps a file. But she’s off duty tonight.’ There was an air of finality in his voice.
‘Can you get hold of her? It’s really important.’
‘It always is, with you MIT lot.’
‘It’s four fucking murders so far, DC Bryant. I really can’t be arsed bothering my chief with your snotty attitude, but if that’s what it takes to get a bit of action going round here, I will do it. Now, do you want to phone your sergeant and ask her, or do you want my guv’nor to do it?’
