Hell's Gate: A gripping, edge-of-your-seat crime thriller Read online

  “You expecting the fucking Fuzz?” Cezar said as he spat out of the window before wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

  Rares shook his head. He thought immediately about Christina and his stomach sank making him feel nauseous. Cezar didn’t wait. He turned the car away and headed back to the farm. He knew for certain that Angel would not be too pleased. The farm gates swung open and Cezar parked the van in the yard.

  Angel simply stared at the two men.

  “What’s he back here for?”

  “Coppers looking around his place. They didn’t see us so thought it best to come here. We checked that we weren’t followed.” Cezar spat again. “Fucking hate the Coppers, me.”

  “Have they paid you a visit out of the blue before?”

  Rares shook his head. “I’ve not been to the hospital nor to Stella’s as you instructed. I just go to the kebab shop and my trailer, work and sleep, you know that.”

  “Cezar, take one of the new guys to the kebab shop to work in place of Rares who, I’m sad to say is going to disappear for a while.”

  Rares suddenly felt vulnerable on hearing the word ‘disappear’. Beads of perspiration showed on his forehead and his gut tightened. He knew what happened to people who endangered the family. Even the slightest risk would not be tolerated.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong, Angel. You saw how the dogs worked last night. It’s probably Christina, something’s happened to her.”

  Angel nodded. “And if it has, what then? They were your dogs. It’ll mean a prison sentence for somebody and the police snooping could just be the start. You understand that the family comes first. At the moment, my friend, let’s not jump to any conclusions, let’s wait and see. Don’t ring or contact Stella. I’ll check on the hospital.”

  He moved and rested a hand on Rares’ shoulder; it felt more threatening than reassuring.

  Angel had hardly finished speaking when his phone rang. Angel’s face changed, he looked puzzled then frowned before his eyes locked on Rares. “When? Keep me informed.”

  Rares now felt certain he was an obstacle. “Is it Christina?”

  Angel pulled his lips together and shook his head. “It’s that bitch of yours, it’s Stella. She’s dead. Last night.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jim sat motionless, a dark two-day stubble coated his chin and from the look of his tired eyes he had had little or no sleep.

  “So you say the taxi dropped Stella off at 21:45 or thereabouts? She seemed fine when she arrived apart from being a little cold? You gave her some coffee and brandy but later she seemed worse. You told the officer attending…” He looked down at his notes and read. “Here it is and I quote, ‘she seemed to be not herself’. You chatted for a while and you left the cab for a pee. When you returned she was just adjusting her clothes. Was she removing them?”

  “She never took ‘em off, if ya know what I mean. Only her knickers anyway, the rest rolled up or down. That’s the way it had to be and it was OK with me. She wasn’t herself, that’s right. She had a sore throat she said and we stopped sex because she said she was painful down there. To be honest, it wasn’t really the sex, for me it was more the company.”

  “Yes, you said that.” The officer looked at Liz hoping to draw a cynical smile but she didn’t respond. “You weren’t worried that she might be infected?”

  “It did cross my mind, Aye.”

  “Did you pay her even though the sex was poor?”

  “Aye, she trusted me. Like I said, I always paid for her and her taxi back.”

  “Did you use a condom?”

  James for some reason blushed. “Aye.”

  “What did you do with it?”

  “It went oot o’ window. Sorry!”

  The officer couldn’t help but smile. A woman had died in his cab and here he was, apologising for littering.

  “Did she take anything, tablets, cocaine?”

  James shook his head. “I didnae see her take anything but when I came back from having a piss there was white around her nostrils. I know she’s a user, why else take money from guys like me?”

  Liz looked hard at James and she thought she saw real compassion in his expression.

  “Did she ever mention that she had a child, James?” Liz asked, softening the questions and trying to make him relax.

  “Aye, Christina I think her wee lassie was called. She showed me a photograph. She was real pretty.”

  “You really liked Stella didn’t you?”

  “To be honest, she said that we might soon be able to live together, if you know what I mean? Move up to Scotland and live. I’ve a hoose. I wouldnae want much. Maybe she would stop taking stuff if she had a fresh start, like. We talked about it a few weeks back. She said she was having difficulties with her fella, he’s a foreigner she told me, Romanian I think but that’s all I know about him, bit of a bully from all accounts. To be honest with ye, Stella didnae look well. Her skin wasnae as good as usual and she looked all washed out but I put it down to her partner being a shit, like.”

  Liz looked at the other interviewing officer and their eyes confirmed naivety and foolishness, but also some respect for the man sitting in front of them. It was clear that he had strong feelings for the deceased. She checked the paperwork and noted too that he had no previous police record which supported her intuitive belief that he was with the wrong woman at the wrong time.

  “We’ll need DNA samples and fingerprints but you know that, James. If you want, we’ll test to see if you’ve picked up anything else. It shouldn’t be long until we know the cause of death. We’ve contacted your company and they’re collecting the trailer. We’re keeping the unit for further forensic work. You’ll be released on bail pending further enquiries but after today you’ll be free to go. One last question, did you always contact the same taxi firm to collect her?”

  James shook his head. “Nae, Stella organised a drop off and a pick up. She wad call when she was ready.” He hung his head and began to cry.

  “Who dropped her off?”

  “Couldnae tell ya. As I’ve said, Stella booked that taxi, I just gave her the money when she was in the cab.”

  Liz made a note to check Stella’s phone for numbers.

  ***

  Cyril read the toxicology report on Stella. It showed that the drugs she was carrying were key factors in her death:

  ‘The cocaine was heavily contaminated with Levamisole, a veterinary drug used for de-worming farm animals. Most samples of street cocaine contain some. In this case it resulted in neutropenia and agranulocytosis which had gone undetected, leading to a sudden fever and septicaemia. She died from a resulting cardio infarction. The skin showed clear evidence of purpura, again a result of the ingestion of Levamisole. Clear evidence of alcohol dependency.”

  Cyril picked up the phone and dialled Julie Pritchett’s mobile. It rang four times.

  “Sorry, wasn’t as quick as a flash in answering that!” She emphasised the word ‘Flash’. “What can I do for you Cyril?”

  Cyril detected the laughter in her voice. “Very droll, Doctor. I find myself with another body, that of a young woman. Let’s hope they don’t come in threes. Toxicology shows heart attack from an overdose of contaminated cocaine. My question is regarding Levamisole. Is it only used to de-worm farm animals or is it used in domestic animals too?”

  “Good question, ask me one about sport!”

  Cyril laughed out loud. “For that you must come out for dinner, but only if you answer the first question without asking the audience.”

  “Yep, it was but not now. It was used to treat heartworm in dogs. Did I pass?”

  “Flying colours.”

  “What’s the name of the young woman?”

  Cyril replied and Julie promised to take a look at the notes and get back to him.

  “One last thing. The Snoopy tattoo on the guy’s backside, could there be another tattoo underneath?”

  “Could be I suppose. Would you like me to take another look?
”

  “Always the star. Thanks, Julie.”

  Cyril walked over to the white board and wrote down Levamisole before drawing an arrow to Rares Negrescu’s name. “Dogs yet again!” he said out loud.

  “Sorry, Sir. Didn’t catch that.”

  Cyril briefly explained. Owen informed Cyril that there was no sign of Negrescu and that after interviewing the owner of the kebab house, it appeared he had rung in sick the previous day. According to his boss, this was unusual, as he never took time off.

  “Let’s not make two and two into five, let’s just be cautious. You’ve someone checking the caravan on a regular basis?”

  Owen nodded.

  ***

  The following morning Cyril and Owen called at the lab. The full forensics results on the cab and the detritus found around the cab had not been completed and would take the best part of four days if they were to prioritise. However, they had an interesting find on the envelope. They had discovered dog hairs stuck to the self-adhesive.

  “The hairs were not cut but were telogenic, meaning they were shed. Shed hairs can play a key role in forensic investigation as we have now developed better systems of analysis.” Cyril looked at the young lady who seemed barely old enough to sit her GCSEs but then she probably thought that he was Methuselah.

  “We have identified the hairs as coming from a Rhodesian Ridgeback.”

  Cyril felt his skin tingle, the same breed that had attacked Christina.

  “Could they have come from the same dogs that were in Stella’s house?”

  “We checked samples taken from the dogs before they were destroyed but they are not the same. Same breed, Chief Inspector, but the dogs these hairs came from…” She held up the transparent packet… “have been fed a diet of anabolic steroids. Toxicology shows Stanozolol. It would strengthen the animal. It’s really a performance-enhancing drug.”

  “Have you seen that before?”

  “Common in the dog fighting world.”

  Cyril rubbed his chin and turned to look at Owen. “We need Negrescu and we need him quickly.”

  Owen nodded. “You were right, Sir.” He pointed to Cyril’s stomach.

  Cyril just tapped his gut and smiled. “Something you don’t learn, Owen. You’re born with it!”

  ***

  The information from the Romanian Police files regarding Peter Anton proved interesting as Owen flicked through the printed email and sighed. He walked to Cyril’s office and tapped on the door.

  “You’ll not believe this but our friend Peter or shall we say Petev Anton has an interesting past. Spent time in prison for GBH. He attacked his stepfather with a hammer. The sentence was reduced on the grounds that he was protecting his mother from his violence. Also had one or two minor run-ins, mainly connected with youth gang culture but then he seems to have settled down after his prison sentence, university and then over here. I still cannot understand how we just accept people into the system with criminal records.”

  “They’ve been abusing the system for years. Murderers, prostitutes, pimps and vagabonds have all managed to find their way here. What’s sad, Owen, is that nobody realises that they are here until the proverbial hits the fan. It has to be said that a lot of good citizens arrive too, but they never make the front page of the newspapers. I don’t believe the Government has any idea of the numbers working legally or illegally what with name changes and document falsification. There’s money to be made controlling these people who are, in many cases, desperate, particularly if they have a limited command of our language. Don’t forget that our benefit system is the most generous in Europe, if not the world. Most come as self-employed which gives them the same access to tax credits and housing benefits as any other, its benefit tourism. Now, shall we say, less wealthy EU members can enter the country legally and take up employment without authorisation. Take, for example, those poor builders working down at what was ‘The Beehive’, they never stop. If they don’t put the time in, there’s always someone willing to replace them. Just look at the number of migrants sleeping rough and multiply that for each and every town and city! Beggars belief! And don’t forget, they haven’t stopped coming. Look at the streams pouring through Europe. Stories circulate at home of allowances and benefits that make their own hand outs seem paltry. Too easy with Job Seekers’ Allowance, money for housing…”

  Owen could see Cyril’s face grow redder the higher his blood pressure rose, which seemed directly proportional to the height he achieved on his soapbox.

  “How did he support himself when doing his post graduate studies?”

  “He found employment in a variety of food joints whilst studying at Leeds. No criminal record there. We know the rest, of course. I’d like to know how he funded his Masters’ Degree if he’d been inside before his move to the U.K. Find out all the establishments in which he worked, if his employment and tax records are accurate for the period he’s been here. That shouldn’t be too difficult. Also find out with whom he associated whilst at University, his accommodation etc. When you have that we’ll chat with him. What about Negrescu?”

  “We’ve watched his caravan but nothing, no coming nor going. He’s still not at work, the owner of the Kebab shop tells us that it’s most unusual. He still has some of his wages and according to him, money is the one thing that Negrescu wouldn’t leave if he were planning to quit. I’d like to get clearance for a forensic search of the caravan sooner rather than later.”

  Cyril seemed calmer. “I’ll sort it.”

  ***

  Owen was surprised that the list of Peter Anton’s temporary employment was not as long as expected for his year at the University. It appeared that he tended to work at a local Chinese takeaway or in a Chinese Cash and Carry near Burley, not far from his student accommodation. It was easy to track those who had shared his accommodation at the time and Owen had six names. The local Bobbies could interview them wherever they might now be; standard police procedures. He would visit the cash and carry himself and he was also keen to know more about Anton’s present employers and possibly their clients. He knew that gleaning that sort of confidential information would need greater leverage than he could bring at this present time.

  ***

  Cyril and Owen watched as the dog handler moved around the caravan. There was no movement from inside.

  “Take the dog away!” Cyril instructed.

  Cyril pointed to the Forensics’ team. An excited Spaniel was brought forward as the Alsatian was taken away. They moved towards the caravan accompanied by two officers. The black ram made small work of the door lock sending splinters of plywood on a path of least resistance that finished at the officers’ feet. One officer checked the caravan quickly and once he was sure that it was empty inside, he moved aside to allow the Forensics’ team entry led by the drug sniffer-dog.

  It never ceased to amaze Cyril how quickly spectators appeared once the plastic tape cordon was in place; already four or five people observed from the periphery. The four police vehicles positioned along the path to the caravan was the draw. Owen went over to the group and made enquiries but they had not seen the owner for several days.

  “Keeps himself to himself. See him come and go, never see him in the shops. Bit of a miserable bastard if you ask me, foreigner too.”

  “Does he have a dog?” Owen asked the lady who had a scruffy-looking Poodle on a lead.

  “I’ve never seen nor heard a dog here and I live over there.” She pointed to the end-terraced house in the small row. “So you’d think if he had a dog I’d know. I often let Cindy-Loo out for a pee at night and if I thought there were other dogs about I wouldn’t. You can never be too careful. What’s he done, any road?”

  “Gone missing!”

  “Probably milked enough out of our system like ‘em all and then buggered off home.”

  Cezar just watched from the back of the group. He rolled a cigarette in his fingers, deliberately showing little interest in the proceedings; he lit it before tur
ning away. Owen saw him turn to leave and, for some reason, he felt he should speak to him; it was something about his appearance or maybe his height. Owen lifted up the tape and went after him.

  “Excuse me.” Owen put his hand on the man’s shoulder and he felt him stiffen and turn aggressively, blowing smoke into Owen’s face. He turned his eyes to look at the hand on his shoulder and then looked down at Owen, something not many did. Owen removed his hand and showed his ID.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Just being fucking nosey, saw a few people so thought I’d come and see what the fuss was, see. You one of them detective type coppers? Has somebody died?”

  Owen smiled. “Have you seen the man who lives in the caravan in the last couple of days?”

  The man nodded. “Not in the last few days but seen him before, now an’ again like, tends to say nowt. Best way really if truth be known but I’ve not seen him here for a few days. As I say just stopped today for a piss.”

  Owen looked at the man’s facial damage, his part removed ear and his missing teeth. Although the man had a local accent, he knew that he was of eastern European descent. It was difficult to determine his age, but he guessed mid to late forties.

  “You live local?”

  “Stopped for a piss as I said and then saw the cop cars. Wondered if I might help but then seeing everything seemed right, thought I’d bugger off or am I breaking the law?”

  “Where’s your car?”

  Cezar pointed up the track.

  “Owen!” Cyril called and gestured that he should come and look.

  “Thanks for your time.” Cezar turned to go. “Is this the man you’ve seen here?” Owen asked, holding out a photograph for the man to take. Cezar didn’t touch it, just nodded, turned and carried on up the lane.

  Owen watched him toss his cigarette butt into the hedge. His vehicle was behind the police vans but Owen managed to glimpse the colour. He had wanted him to touch the photograph but he did not. He had a strange feeling about this character but he did not know why and having a fingerprint might have been an advantage. However, he would soon have the cigarette butt and that should be one in the bank. Forensics would retrieve it shortly. Any DNA recovered would be checked against the UK National DNA Database. With luck his hunch would prove positive, if not it would be stored alongside the description added to and referenced to HOLMES.