Over the Edge (31 page)

‘Was it a big house?’

She shrugged her shoulders. What is big when you spent much of your childhood living like a farm animal? I asked Lorraine if there was an A4 pad anywhere and one was found for me. I drew a house on it. A nice house, with a chimney and a front door with a path winding up to it. It took me about ten seconds. I spun the pad round and said: ‘Did the house look like that?’

‘No.’

I drew two parallel lines almost the full width of the paper, then vertical lines at brief intervals along them, dividing the space between the lines into squares. In each square I drew a front door with a
couple of steps up to it, and rows of windows. ‘Did the house look like one of those?’ I asked.

The girl became animated. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Like that.’ We were off again. There were probably about a million terrace houses in East Pennine, assuming the house was in East Pennine.

‘Was there a little garden in front?’ I asked. There wasn’t.

‘Was it at the end of the row?’ She shook her head, but hesitantly this time. ‘What is it?’ I asked.

She put one hand to her forehead, deep in thought. ‘It feel long ago,’ she said.

‘It was long ago,’ I said. ‘A lot has happened to you in a few days. Try to remember.’

The girl reached forward and took the pad again. She picked up my pen and studied the crude drawing. Suddenly she drew lines at the end of the row, indicating the last house and pointed to the one next to it. ‘That house,’ she declared. ‘Not at end; next to end.’

‘Well done,’ I said, smiling at her, but she hadn’t finished.

‘There,’ she said, pointing. ‘Name of street on wall. I not understand.’

‘What didn’t you understand?’

‘Name. Two names. I look in my…my book with words…’

‘Dictionary?’

‘Yes. My dictionary. Words mean trees. First
word mean trees, second word mean trees also, but no trees anywhere.’

I looked across at Lorraine and Magda. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’

They shook their heads unhelpfully.

‘You’re doing well…’ I began, but cut the sentence short. Every time I spoke to her I stumbled over the words because I didn’t know her name. My end of the conversation sounded false and awkward. I said: ‘I wish I knew your name.’

The two chairs off to my left creaked but the occupants didn’t say anything. The girl looked down at her lap and then at me.

‘Ludmilla,’ she whispered.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

Somebody brought us tea and I poured. Ludmilla put another two heaped spoonfuls of sugar in hers. She was entitled to a little treat, I thought.

‘Was there anything else you remember about where the house was?’ I asked. ‘Were there any sounds you heard. Like clocks chiming or church bells? Any shopkeepers shouting their wares?’ Do any shopkeepers shout their wares, these days, I wondered? ‘Anything at all?’

‘I go for walk,’ Ludmilla said.

‘You went for a walk? I thought you were locked in.’

‘No. First night. Before…before he came. I have keys, to go buy food. I go for walk.’

‘Tell me about it. Where did you walk?’

‘Not far. I show you.’ She took the paper again and started drawing. ‘I walk down here, and round here.’

‘What did you see? What shops did you see?’

She made agitated movements with her hands, frustrated by the lack of words. ‘Fruit,’ she said. ‘And…tables and chairs. And music. And big shop where I buy food.’

‘A big shop. Can you remember the name?’

She screwed up her face in concentration, but it wouldn’t come. ‘I think…I think begin with…’ She picked up the pen and drew the letter S on the pad.

‘We want a big shop beginning with an S,’ I told the other two, but they were about as helpful as a spare wheel on a sledge. Even my feeble brain was capable of coming up with Sainsbury’s and Safeways, but when I suggested them Ludmilla shook her head.

‘That’s terrific, Ludmilla,’ I said. ‘We’re nearly there. Is there anything else you can tell me? What about the names of these other streets.’

She shook her head again.

I pointed to the route she’d indicated on the drawing. ‘Which was the busiest road?’

‘That one.’

‘Was it very busy?’

‘Yes. Very busy. Many people all over. Shops come out where people walk. Very busy.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Do you mean that the shopkeepers bring their goods out on to the pavement?’

‘Yes. On pavement. And many ladies dressed like the doctor.’

‘The doctor?’ I queried.

‘Doctor Kaur,’ Lorraine said. ‘In the next room.’

‘You mean Asian ladies, in saris?’

‘Yes. Asian ladies.’

We were getting there. It would take time, but we could probably pinpoint the flat from the information Ludmilla had given us. ‘OK, Ludmilla,’ I said. ‘You’ve gone for your walk and you’re heading back to the house. Did you have a front door key?’

‘No. Front door not locked.’

‘Was there a number on it?’

‘No, but…’

‘Go on.’

‘This house.’ She pointed to the house next but one. ‘This house number…’ Again she drew it on the pad. Number 45. ‘Same age as my father,’ she said.

‘Brilliant!’ I said. ‘Well done.’ I did a quick calculation and came up with either 49 or 41 for the house in question. ‘Now,’ I continued. ‘You’ve entered the house. Where was your apartment? Was it upstairs?’

‘Yes, up stairs.’

‘And you had a key to your apartment. What sort of key was it?’ I quickly sketched a Yale key and a deadlock. She pointed to the deadlock and snatched the pen from between my fingers. ‘Number eight,’ she said, and drew an 8 on the pad. ‘The flat was number eight.’

‘That’s fantastic. Now, I’d like you to tell me about the room. What it was like inside.’ Ideally, we’d want to prove she’d been in there.

‘I go all round it,’ she said. ‘I do this, everywhere.’ She pressed her fingers on the table several times, then stood up and did the same thing on the wall and the door. ‘I think they will kill me, so I leave my fingers on everywhere, so you can tell that Ludmilla was in the room.’

I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that this slip of a girl had been so brave, had endured so much in her brief life, and had such a fighting spirit. ‘We’ll find the room, Ludmilla,’ I promised, ‘and we’ll prove that you were there, and we’ll arrest the people who put you there.’

I was nearly done, had just one line of questioning remaining. I said: ‘Tell me how you escaped.’

It hurt her, being reminded of those days. She was tortured and locked in a room, used as casually as if she’d been a disposable cup, and expected to die when they’d finished with her. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked gently in the chair.

‘He came…’ she began, her voice barely audible. ‘He have…his little friend with him.’

‘Doo-gie?’ I asked.

‘No not Doo-gie. Pony’s tail man. He attack me with little friend.’

‘Who was the little friend?’ I asked.

‘Little friend not a person. I steal little friend. I bring it for you. It is in car.’

‘Which car? The one that brought you here?’

‘Yes.’

Lorraine jumped up and left the room. A minute later she returned and placed this
thing
on the table in front of me. Ludmilla shrank away from it, stood up and walked over to the window. A big jet was coming over, and she was probably wishing she’d never been on one. The thing consisted of an aluminium tube and a red plastic pistol grip. The words
Hotshot Made in the USA
were moulded into the handle. It was the cattle prod that Wallenberg had used to punish Selina and torture God-knows how many girls like Ludmilla into cowed submission. Sometimes I think that an-
eye-for
-an-eye would be too easy for people like him.

‘How did you get this?’ I asked.

She was still looking out of the window. She said: ‘He came. One night. He…he attack me. I pretend…’ She couldn’t go any further.

‘It’s OK, Ludmilla,’ I said. ‘I think we know what you mean. Did you grab this, his little friend?’

‘Grab it?’

‘Did you take it from him?’

‘Yes. I take it. I go
pssst pssst
to him.’ She turned to face me as if holding the prod and made two stabbing motions.

I smiled at the thought of it. ‘You gave him some of his own medicine?’

‘No! No medicine.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I picked up the prod and jabbed it to one side ‘You did this to him?’

‘Yes. He not like it. Then I run away. Key was in door. I open door and make lock again and run away.’

‘You locked him in?’

‘Yes.’

I shook my head in disbelief. ‘You’re an incredible girl, Ludmilla,’ I said. ‘Just incredible.’

She’d run into the nearest shop and they’d looked after her. We had another cup of tea in the other room and they took turns to fire questions and lecture me on gender politics. I was seriously outnumbered and outgunned so I took it all. They muttered in amazement when I told them that I knew who the two men were, and that led to a short, eye-watering discussion on what ought to be done to them.

I used the bathroom and asked to be taken home. The Asian lady and the other woman shook my hand. Ludmilla looked hesitant. I gave her the
apologetic smile and said I’d tell Lorraine what happened. She thanked me for helping her.

I collected the cattle prod from the kitchen and told them I needed it for evidence. The blacked-out glasses were on the mantelshelf and as Magda opened the front door I handed them to her, saying: ‘I don’t really think I need these, do you?’ My words were blown away in the down-wash of a Delta Airlines Triple 7 as she took them from me.

‘Peter Wallenberg,’ I said. ‘Top priority. I want him before the end of the day.’ We were in the main office, with everybody present. ‘He’s either done a bunk or is lying low. Find out the location of every property he owns and look for him there. Talk to the neighbours and his tenants, show them his picture. Talk to his wife and lean on her. Shell shop him if she can. Fraud Squad – or should I say the Economic Crime Unit – are looking into his finances, seeing what they can freeze. We want him for murder, kidnapping and rape.’ As an afterthought I added: ‘And having a ponytail at his age.’ If anything would stir them into action that was it.

I wiped a clean patch on the whiteboard and picked up a pen. ‘One other thing before you go,’ I said. ‘I have a description of the house and locality where the foreign girl was held. Does anybody recognise this?’

I sketched a row of terrace houses. ‘This one is number 45,’ I said. ‘She was held in this one.’

‘49,’ somebody informed us all.

‘Or 41,’ another added.

‘That’s right. The street down here leads to a main road,’ I drew it, ‘and there are lots of shops here. The shops spread their wares out on to the pavement.’ I drew a few circles and squares to represent them. ‘One of the bigger shops that sells food begins with the letter S. Now, here’s the clincher: the name of this street is to do with trees. Two words, and they are both trees, or associated with trees. Anybody any ideas?’

Everybody gazed at the board, racking their brains for enlightenment. Jeff broke the silence.

‘Are we talking about Heckley?’ he asked.

I gave the wish-I-knew smile. ‘Not sure.’

Somebody else said: ‘When you say trees, do you mean grove, or something like that?’

‘I imagine so. What else is there, or do we have to go through the A to Z?’

‘Avenue.’

‘Yep. Any more?’

‘It’s the Junipers,’ the youngest DC in the squad stated. ‘Juniper Avenue, just off Westerton Road. The shop beginning with an S is a Spar.’

A sigh of agreement rippled through the room. ‘Well done,’ I said. ‘Juniper Avenue sounds like the place. I’d like to publicly congratulate that man on
his diligence and observation. Will the rest of you please take note and act accordingly?’

‘He only knows because he’s screwing the checkout girl,’ someone said, and the meeting broke up with smiles all around.

‘49, Juniper Avenue?’ Dave asked when the scraping of chairs and rattle of conversation had faded away. He walked over to the wall map to check its location.

‘I want somebody from fingerprints there, too,’ I said. ‘The girl says she left her prints on everything.’

‘What, deliberately?’

‘Mmm. She thought they’d kill her so she wanted to leave her mark.’

‘Blimey.’

I made the call and arranged to meet a SOCO at the flat. Twenty minutes later we were parking in Juniper Avenue. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ I said.

I tried to put myself in her place. She’d landed an hour earlier, straight from a country ravaged by war and sectarian hatred. I went through the names that had made the headlines since the break-up of the Soviet Union: Serbia, Macedonia, the remainders of the Czech and Yugoslav republics, Kosova, Albania. And so on. A heartbreaking litany of hatred whipped up by a few men’s craving for power. Where she came from I didn’t know, but Westerton Road, with all its traffic and dust and
bustling shoppers, must have felt like heaven to her. Workmen with a cherry-picker crane were lifting more Christmas decorations into place and stringing cables dripping with coloured bulbs across the road. The smells are the first thing you notice about a foreign country. To me it was just traffic fumes, but what would she smell on the breeze? The odour of wet peat blowing down from the hills, the freshly cut grass in the park and the aftershave and perfume of the boys and girls? We did the walk she’d done and found ourselves standing outside the un-numbered door, next but one from the end.

‘It’s flat number eight,’ I said. ‘Upstairs.’

The front door wasn’t locked, as she’d said. We closed it behind us and I found the push for the light. Dave led the way up the carpet-covered stairs. We’d barely reached the top when the light went out. I found another push and when the light came on again we saw that number eight stood before us.

I knocked, then tried the handle. It was locked.

‘Kick it down,’ I said.

Dave pressed himself against the opposite wall, took a deep breath and launched himself at the door. Wood splintered and a gap appeared. Two more clinical kicks and we were in.