‘You mean she was scared of having her appeal for asylum rejected.’
‘She was. We weren’t allowed to sit in on any of her interviews with the authorities, but Prim was shaken after every one of them. She told us they kept badgering her about the reason why she left Somalia, insisting she must have done so willingly in order to improve her life prospects here in Britain. Well, you met her. Did she come across as that kind of person to you?’
‘No,’ Bliss said, recalling the timid girl he had spent some time with immediately after her rescue. ‘But we can never truly know a person. Not deep down. Like you, my impression of her was of someone reserved and meek, but a young girl who was also determined to make a go of things in this new world she found herself in. I suspect she came into contact with other Somalians who gave her a way out – most likely down to London to settle into a community in which she could disappear.’
Nodding furiously, Dottie Wilkey set down her own mug and wiped away a stray tear. ‘Prim was a sweetheart. Never gave us a moment of concern. She was polite, helped out around the house, and above all she was kind. We would have missed her however she’d left us, but it did hurt that she chose to go without saying goodbye.’
‘I suspect she thought she might not be able to leave you both if she did that. I imagine it was the only way she could leave.’
Eamonn reached out a hand and gently squeezed his wife’s fingers. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t be of more help. In terms of friends, Prim never had many. But she did talk about somebody she’d met in town one day who’d also been trafficked. I remember her coming home and telling us about this young woman, and thanking God that she had been rescued from that life before it had even started.’
‘Did she say what kind of life she meant?’ Chandler asked, beating Bliss to it.
‘No. Not really. We got the impression she was referring to the things we sometimes see on the TV, where girls are trafficked into the country and used as… slave labour, in various ways.’
‘Did she happen to tell you this girl’s name?’
Dottie’s brow furrowed. ‘It might have been Sara. I seem to remember Prim saying she was originally from Croatia.’
Bliss sucked on his bottom lip. It sounded as if the girl had used her real name, not the name she was known by if she did indeed work for an agency. ‘Are you quite certain? No other name? No surname, or perhaps a nickname?’
The woman shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t even be sure it was Sara.’
‘That’s okay. It might still be helpful. Thank you.’ He turned to her husband. ‘Mr Wilkey? Anything jog your memory here?’
Eamonn’s shake of the head was firm. ‘It was Dottie who told me about it. That’s not something Prim would have felt comfortable discussing with me.’
Bliss felt his initial excitement deflating like a punctured tyre. He managed to raise a feeble smile. ‘I understand. We’ll see if that leads us anywhere.’
The two detectives finished off their drinks before thanking the couple and leaving the house. It was a large property, clean and tastefully furnished; Bliss imagined the pair provided a warm and inviting home for their charges. He was grateful to them, because he knew how much girls like Primrose needed that kind of stability in their lives.
‘Where now?’ Chandler asked him as they settled back into the car.
‘It’s not much to go on. I doubt the name will get us very far, but we could ask Marta Lsenko. Even if she doesn’t know the girl, she might be able to ask around for us, given they probably move in the same circles.’
‘That’s a good idea. I was thinking we could have someone go through the adverts. It’s not much, but how many Croatians can there be in the city?’
‘More than you imagine. But the majority will have come across when the borders opened up, looking to find work. Legit rather than trafficked.’
‘Probably worthy of following up on, I’d say.’
Bliss agreed. ‘Even if John and Glen come up empty-handed, at least we have a name to work with. Primrose might be gone for good, but she may well have left enough of herself behind to help us out.’
Twenty-Three
Hunt and Ashton had discovered nothing of interest, although they both mentioned the antipathy shown by many neighbours towards the halfway house.
‘I had a lot of people talking to me about boats out at sea or creating more camps to house them,’ DC Hunt said as they drove back to Thorpe Wood.
‘Same here,’ Ashton said. ‘Some people reckoned their presence keeps the house prices in the neighbourhood artificially low. Not that anyone was being racist, of course…’
‘That halfway house is literally a stone’s throw from some of the most expensive property in the entire city,’ Chandler said. ‘Westwood Park Road is one of the best addresses you can have in Peterborough, and the surrounding streets are full of people who think living close by gives them an air of superiority.’
Bliss glanced across at her. ‘Ouch! Sounds as if you speak from experience, Pen.’
Chandler casually hiked a shoulder. ‘I dated a lad from this area. Only went to his place a couple of times, but his mother virtually ran around after me with a dustpan and brush as
