Liz Mistry - Broken Silence

Throwing a pile of chicken guts into the plastic waste tubs behind him and wishing it was a brick hitting Bullet’s head, he went through his strategy. For days now he’d been thinking about this and now the day had come, he wanted to make sure everything went to plan. The trigger had been when he’d heard the advert on the radio. At first, he hadn’t understood it. Wondered what it was about. Then, he heard it again and it began to dawn on him. The advert was about people like him and the other men. People kept against their will, unable to escape. People like his daughter being forced to do God knows what.

His captors had told them that nobody cared about the likes of them, but that wasn’t true. The police were advertising it on the radio. They were asking people to contact them. They would help. So, Stefan memorized the number. All he had to do was tell someone what was happening. At first, he’d thought he’d tell one of the other men – the ones who were free to come and go, but he decided against that. They must know what was going on. They just turned a blind eye. Probably glad it wasn’t them. So that wouldn’t work. The more time that passed, the weaker he got, the more poorly some of the other men became, and this fuelled his determination to escape. To escape and to find Maria.

Finally, he realized the easiest way to break free was from the factory. They weren’t watched all the time here. Bullet and his thugs came and went, but there were times during the day when the only supervisors were the factory ones and they didn’t seem quite as threatening. He’d observed the direction the other men’s cars took when they left the car park and reckoned he’d reach civilization at some point if he just got out, turned left and kept on running.

Stefan waited, nervous and scared. This could all go badly wrong, but it might be his only chance. Eventually he sloped off to the loading area by way of the toilets. Creeping slowly forward, he craned his head to either side. He could see two of the big truck drivers off to one side, smoking and chatting. If he sidled out and used their truck for cover, he could get outside. Quick as a flash, he nipped back into the toilets, stripped off the white protective covering that would draw attention on the street, shoved it onto a bin and retraced his steps to the loading bay. The men were still laughing and smoking – looking at something on their phones. Heart pounding, he took a deep breath and darted over to the truck before edging forward. He listened, but all he could hear was the regular sounds of the factory machines and the occasional shout from the men. Taking his chance, he darted to the side, using the factory wall as cover and sidled over to the bushes that lined the edge of the car park. Crouching behind them, he made his way to the main road and then took to his heels running as fast as he could along a pavement lined with car parks assigned to other huge factory buildings. He was in an industrial estate. He accelerated, the cold air catching in his chest, but adrenaline made him fly. He followed the road round and saw a main street. There was a bus stop a few yards ahead and he wished he’d had the foresight to steal some money. He kept moving past it. The scent of freedom beckoning, making him smile.

DS Nikita Parekh, shoulders hunched against the driving sleet, bounced on the balls of her feet as she waited in the no man’s land between the outer and inner cordons of the crime scene. Concentrating, she watched the CSIs processed the scene. The weather made it imperative that they work with speed and so they’d quickly banished any unnecessary personnel from the inner cordon and this included Nikki and her team. Not used to standing about, Nikki, Tyvek suit over her leather jacket, crime scene bootees over her boots, was doing her best to absorb what she could see of the crime scene.

The CSIs had already set up spotlights, but under orders from Gracie Fells, the head CSI, in order to make sure the heat they generated didn’t compromise the crime scene, the lights had been placed at the very edge of the cordon. This lack of direct light made picking up on the details a little more difficult for Nikki. The CSIs – amorphous gender-neutral figures in their white bulky suits – held torches as they worked. The car, a red Kia Sportage, was slewed halfway across the narrow road, its front end squashed, the driver’s door hanging open to reveal the empty seat. Not so classy now . Blood had turned the slush a rusty colour and as she watched, the CSIs were frantically trying to gather evidence as they took photos and scooped up spattered matter.

Other figures focused on the tracks that were beyond the Kia. The vehicle the car had crashed into was absent, and harvesting track marks and footprints was a race against the elements. Nikki itched to get in there and make her own analysis, talk to the CSIs, get a real feel for the scene. Already the memory of the resigned but annoyed atmosphere that had descended on her family, when she’d grabbed her jacket and headed for the door, was fading – almost, but not quite. It was a year since her daughter had been abducted and she and her partner Marcus had nearly lost their lives; still, every time she was called away from a family gathering, the memory of that horrific time was triggered for all of them. But this is my job! Her justification didn’t always sit too well with her family, but they had to be aware that she’d been trying her best. Charlie knew first-hand how important her job was … didn’t she? Trying really hard to be more present in their lives, more giving of her time … that, she decided, just had to make up for her dashing off halfway through the Sunday dinner that Marcus had so painstakingly cooked. But as the guilt soaked in, she realized that was just part and parcel of having to balance two sets of responsibilities.

Resolutely, she pulled her thoughts away from the kids’ disappointed and slightly worried faces and back to the scene before her. The presence of blood with the absence of a body combined with the car owner’s frantic call to emergency services was chilling. What the hell had she seen? A hand through the back light of the vehicle in front? One that she was unable to give a registration number for. One that she had only described as a white van. Nikki hoped the CSIs could work their magic on the rapidly melting slush … CCTV was non-existent in these back roads and besides, they meandered for miles, criss-crossing other roads and back roads. Who knew when the reported van would hit mainstream roads again, if ever? There were so many snickets, hidden roads and premises around this area, the van could be holed up in any number of locations waiting for them to divert their searches elsewhere. Their only other option would be a police appeal for a white vehicle, but with the lack of a better description, they’d be inundated with a raft of pointless sightings. What made it worse was that Nikki was acquainted with the woman who’d made the phone call … It had become personal for West Yorkshire police and, whether she could stand the woman herself didn’t matter, she was one of theirs and that counted for something. Cupping her cold fingers round her mouth, Nikki blew into them, trying to ease the numbness in her joints and simultaneously stamped from foot to foot. Springer had made her life hell for a while the previous year, but that didn’t stop Nikki feeling sorry for her now. Springer had clearly been taken by whoever was in the van she’d been pursuing and who knew what state she’d be in. Nikki wasn’t used to standing idle at a crime scene and her patience was wearing thin. The sooner they got a look at the scene the sooner they could crack on with finding Springer.

The weight of a hefty elbow nudging her as she watched, had Nikki spinning round, arms already up to shove back when she realized it was her DC, Sajid Malik. ‘For goodness’ sake, Saj. What the hell are you playing at?’