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  ‘Our presence might also put that poor girl in further danger somehow, if she is still about,’ Christine added.

  ‘Hopefully, she’ll be long gone, but there may well be others. We’d better let Fernandez get on with it without distractions from us,’ Vinnie said, accepting the obvious. Some first holiday this had turned into.

  ‘I can give you a lift back to Palma tonight, there will be loads of scheduled flights from Palma airport to Manchester, you’ll easily get one tomorrow,’ Jimmy offered.

  ‘And I guess we get one more night on the piss together,’ Vinnie added.

  An hour later, they had handed their room keys in, given the holiday rep a load of old baloney as to why they were leaving early, and had let Fernandez know. When Vinnie came off the phone, he said, ‘He sounded relived, said he’d let me know how things panned out, as a courtesy. And then added that he has a cousin living in Manchester whom he wants to come and visit sometime et cetera…’

  ‘Well, if he ever comes over, you look after him and then hit him for a return trip here when all the drama’s over,’ Jimmy said, as they made their way to his car.

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘I might fancy somewhere else next time,’ Christine added.

  Well, at least there will be a next time, Vinnie thought, as he jumped into the rear of the car. He’d let Christine have the front, so he could stretch out.

  Chapter Eight

  Vinnie used his phone to get online and found plenty of options for their flight home. He had planned to check the previous night, when they’d first arrived in Palma, but by the time he and Christine had booked into one of the airport hotels, they were hungry so went out for something to eat straightaway and hadn’t come back until much later. They said their goodbyes to Jimmy around midnight, and by virtue of how Vinnie felt this morning, he was glad he hadn’t carried on after that.

  ‘That’s the second time I’ve seen you looking a tad hungover,’ Christine said, as she bustled around the room. ‘You’re only in your thirties, didn’t realise you were a lightweight.’

  ‘Didn’t realise you were a heavyweight,’ Vinnie replied, and then had to dodge a pillow. ‘What are you looking for?’ he asked.

  ‘I emptied my bag onto the table last night, looking for one of the many creams that stop me looking like you in a morning, and my passport must have fallen out. I can’t find it anywhere.’

  ‘Oh, shit!’ Vinnie said, feeling the morning mist in his head suddenly disappear.

  ‘Shit indeed. How is the flight search going?’

  ‘There’s one in three hours and another at five o’clock. Probably others, too. I was about to ask you which one you wanted.’

  ‘Book the five o’clock, my passport has to be here somewhere, probably under that settee, I’ll check. Then we can take our time.’

  Vinnie booked the flights and was surprised that Christine had still not found her passport.

  ‘Before you ask, I’ve no idea,’ she said. Then a thought occurred to Vinnie. What if she’d lost it when she was accosted? Maybe it had fallen out of her bag somehow. He voiced his concerns.

  ‘Well, all I know is it’s not here.’

  Vinnie then rang Fernandez while Christine called the hotel in Pollensa. She knew she’d picked it up after they had first checked in. Said she never liked leaving it with hotel receptions longer than necessary. He understood that. They both came off the phone around the same time.

  ‘The room’s been cleaned, definitely no passport.’

  ‘And Fernandez said that the whole alley had initially been closed off as a crime scene, notwithstanding that Lolo was found in the next street. It was the obvious route from the bar, and as a consequence the whole passageway had been thoroughly searched. No passport, for sure,’ Vinnie added.

  ‘Damn, damn, damn!’

  Damn indeed, Vinnie thought, then asked, ‘Didn’t you hand it over here when we checked in yesterday? It’ll be downstairs. Problem over.’

  ‘I only wish. The man on the desk insisted on seeing mine straight after yours; you went to find the loo and I searched this damn bag. It’s far too big. I think he got bored waiting, said it would do when we checked out as we were only here overnight. Then you reappeared.’

  Vinnie obviously wasn’t aware of this but as things transpired he knew it could have ended up as a much worse situation, but for Jimmy. There was no embassy in Palma, but there was a British consulate, so before they rang there for an appointment to request emergency travel documents, Vinnie rang Jimmy, who, as he’d hoped, knew someone at the consulate. Jimmy rang back and said he had managed to arrange a priority appointment for Christine in two hours’ time. Top man.

  They missed lunch but were back at the airport by three: perfect timing. The lady who dealt with Christine seemed to know Jimmy personally, Vinnie would have to ask him about that when they spoke next. Christine was unsure whether to report the loss of her passport as a crime or simply lost property. The lady at the consulate suggested she had probably had her bag dipped at some stage, but recommended they report it as lost. She claimed it would make no difference as the police would not investigate it, but if she reported it stolen there would be more red tape. They took her advice.

  It was only a short flight home, two hours and 35 minutes to be exact. Vinnie let Christine have the window seat after all the morning’s drama, and he sat in the middle with an armrest-hogger to his left. As soon as the overweight man paid a visit, he’d reclaim it. Funny how such petty things took on huge importance as in-flight etiquette.

  Vinnie had put a call into his boss, Frank Delany, while they were waiting to board. Vinnie told Frank he’d fill him in when he saw him, but he may as well save some of his leave and would be back in work tomorrow. Frank sounded relieved. Frank also told him to report straight to the incident room at Preston nick, and then rushed off the phone. Initially, Vinnie assumed that meant there was a job on. But he knew their office was due to be moved to Preston, so it may just have been bumped up the schedule.

  Vinnie was a Greater Manchester detective inspector, initially attached to his force’s major incident unit — which meant homicide, normally. But a little while ago the six forces in the north west region had amalgamated their respective major incident units into a regional homicide unit in order to better use their collective resources. Each force’s officers were still based in their local force areas, but came together when a job was on. However, the powers that be had decided to reorganise the unit into three satellite offices; one in Manchester, including the unit’s headquarters, one in Liverpool city centre and one in Preston in Lancashire. Being Manchester officers, both Harry and Vinnie expected to be based back at Trafford Park, but Brian Darlington, the chief constable of Lancashire, had other ideas.

  It was only a couple of months since Harry and Vinnie ran a complicated multiple murder job from Preston, all orchestrated by a deranged Ulsterman whose targets included a retired home secretary, no less. They had worked closely with Darlington on that job for various reasons, not least the presence of corruption and falsehoods at every turn. They must have worked a little too closely with him, as when the relevant chiefs agreed the restructure, Darlington put in a request to have Harry and Vinnie based in the purpose-made incident room at Preston Central police station. They were both flattered, really, even if it did mean more travelling, though the chief had also put aside a number of bedrooms at the force’s training centre at Hutton Hall, just outside Preston, for their use.

  Harry told Vinnie they should make sure they made friends, as there would no doubt be some local detective superintendents and inspectors not best pleased to have been side-lined by their own chief. But on the plus side, it kept them away from their own deputy chief back in Manchester. Jim Reedly had been heavily involved in the last job — as a potential victim — and Vinnie and Harry had not seen eye to eye with him.

  The large man on Vinnie’s left rose to visit the lavatory, so Vinnie reclai
med the armrest; at least he would have it until his last coffee decided it wanted to make a reappearance. He glanced at Christine, who was still looking out of the window, and asked if she was OK.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m just taking the downtime to go over all that’s happened in the last few days.’

  ‘It all started with what we witnessed on the beach… and to think, we were going to stay by the pool that day.’

  ‘I know; last minute decision. But I’ve also been thinking what a great story there is in there.’

  ‘I guess you’ll never get chance to chase it now,’ Vinnie said, aware of the large man returning. He could hear him huffing as he banged his arm into Vinnie’s, but Vinnie held fast.

  ‘Not strictly so,’ Christine said.

  Her reply intrigued Vinnie, and as he turned to face her fully, he momentarily lost concentration and felt his arm being pushed off the armrest. This guy was seriously trying his patience, but he was now more interested in finding out what Christine meant. So he asked her.

  ‘Well, it got me thinking. If we take all the facts we have learnt from Puerto Pollensa and extrapolate from it—’

  ‘Careful, you might start to lose me.’

  ‘As I was saying, extrapolate from it, I think it is safe to assume that we may, and I say may, have a similar problem in the north west.’

  ‘How come?’

  I did some research on my phone in the airport, and we have quite a large number of Romanians living in Manchester. A significant proportion of those will be from the Roma community.’

  ‘Probably most are, I would think. But it’s still a large leap to assume they are into people trafficking.’

  ‘Granted, but it might be worth a look,’ Christine said.

  ‘Looking for your next scoop?’

  ‘There you go, mentioning the s-word; now I’ve got to take a look,’ Christine said.

  Vinnie smiled, but it was soon spoiled by the man next to him, who muttered, ‘Can you two talk more quietly? I’m trying to get some kip here. Had a few too many for my lunch.’

  Vinnie didn’t answer; just turned and grimaced at the lump of lard next to him. He checked his watch. Still an hour and a half to go. He glanced at Christine, who smiled back. She then turned to the window again and Vinnie picked up the in-flight magazine. Five minutes later, the fat man started to snore. Then the drinks trolley rolled up. ‘I’ll have a latte please,’ Vinnie said. ‘A large one.’

  Chapter Nine

  Vinnie was walking through the incident room in Preston nick at eight am the following day, and by the frenetic clatter and background chatter he guessed that there was a new job on. He always loved the first few days of a murder investigation, as everything clicked into place. There was an air of excitement and anticipation, not forgetting, of course, that someone had lost their life. Never forgetting that.

  He reached the SIO’s office where Harry the senior investigating officer was already at his desk. Vinnie was his deputy. Normally, a detective chief inspector would be deputy but there weren’t enough to go around, nowadays.

  Harry was on the phone when Vinnie walked in; he looked up and nodded as he carried on with his conversation. Vinnie was carrying two polystyrene cups of nuclear-grade coffee from the vending machine in the corridor, and put one on Harry’s desk as he ended his call.

  Harry was ten years older that Vinnie, four stone heavier and with far less hair. His complexion was normally a bit rosé, moving up to a full claret in times of stress.

  ‘Job on?’ Vinnie asked as he tried to take a sip of his coffee.

  ‘We really must invest in a kettle in here; it’ll be next Wednesday before that coffee cools down, er, sorry, no… just pulling together some pre-trial stuff.’

  ‘Oh, right. When you rushed off the phone yesterday and I saw the hustle and bustle next door I just assumed…’

  ‘No, but I’m glad you’re here. There’s been a trial on at Preston crown while you’ve been away, a modern slavery job.’

  ‘Wasn’t the accused a local?’ Vinnie asked.

  ‘Yes, he had an illegal from Estonia working all hours for £2 an hour. He had her passport and everything. That was before the bastard forced her to become a prostitute, with others, in an old disused mill.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘They are all safe now and are being cared for by the social services in Manchester, and the shitbag, called Mohammed Sadiq, is due to be sentenced tomorrow.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He wants to trade for a reduced sentence. Wants a Piggott.’

  Vinnie knew all about ‘Piggott Texts’. These occurred when a registered informant found him or herself in the soft stuff and wanted the sentencing judge to be made aware of all the good things they had done, in providing the police with quality intelligence prior to their arrest. The judge would take account of the value of that previous help as demanded by case law in R v Piggott 1994.

  ‘I get it, that if he had been an informant prior to his trial, as laid down by the appeal court he is entitled to a text to be supplied by the police through the prosecution.’

  ‘The old “brown envelopes,”’ Harry said.

  ‘Exactly, but this scumbag is trying to trade after the fact with stuff that will obviously be untested, just as he is, as a source of information.’

  ‘The fact that it has come to us, sort of proves that he has never been a registered informant.’

  A good point by Harry, Vinnie thought, this would have gone to his handlers, if he had any. ‘And why has it come to us anyway, not those involved in the case?’

  ‘They probably want an unbiased approach. It would give it some transparency and as we don’t actually have a murder on the go, we are a resource to be used, I guess.’

  ‘I don’t like it, Harry. I think this Sadiq fellow should be sentenced and then we could perhaps visit him in prison and see if he wants to pass on any information as part of his civic duty. Might help show he is willing to be rehabilitated, when he eventually reaches parole board time.’

  ‘That’s one view.’

  ‘Anyway, do we know what he’s offering? This could all be bollocks,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘I know. His brief has said it concerns people trafficking.’

  ‘What, like he’s been convicted of involvement with?’

  ‘Yes-ish. But his brief says it is off the scale, and makes what he has done look like nothing.’

  ‘I’m sure that poor Estonian woman doesn’t agree. How long was she captive, anyway?’

  ‘About two years.’

  ‘Bastard.’

  ‘Agreed, but what do you think about the request?’

  Vinnie had run an informant unit while he was a detective sergeant, and handled many as a detective constable. They had all been slippery to deal with and committed to their own agendas, it had been like trying to corral cats. He was glad he was out of that world now, but it was obviously because he had been in it, that it had come to them. No wonder Harry was glad he was back from leave early.

  ‘First up, as this bloke has not yet, or indeed ever, provided information to the police, he is not — in my view — entitled to a Piggott text as a matter of right. And even if we were compelled by a jittery judge to provide one, there would be nothing in it.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. But should we still see him, his brief says it’s big?’

  ‘My view, Harry, is no. Whatever he gives us, or claims to be giving us, can’t possibly be tested or evaluated in time to assist a sentencing judge tomorrow.’

  ‘Granted, but his brief has said he could apply for an adjournment, to help us.’

  ‘Help his client, more like. No, even if the court agreed to an adjournment, how long would that be? Seven days, possibly ten. Still way too short. I say stuff him, it’s obviously a cynical ploy by a desperate criminal — who incidentally pleaded not guilty — and an even more cynical brief.’

  ‘I agree. But let’s have him visited in prison after he has been sentenced
, just to give him the opportunity to talk to us… in the spirit of civil servitude.’

  ‘He’ll probably just tell us to—’

  ‘No doubt,’ Harry interrupted, grinning. ‘Should we run it past CPS first?’

  ‘I’ll speak to the caseworker from the trial. He or she will no doubt already be aware of the offer in embryo.’

  ‘Thanks Vinnie, it’s good to have you back. So tell me, how did the romantic holiday go? And why back so soon? I hope that’s not a bad sign, I like Christine.’

  Vinnie took a deep breath. At least his coffee would have cooled by the time he finished his story.

  *

  Christine walked into her office in Media City, Salford. It was a new bespoke centre designed specifically for the media. The BBC and ITV had a big presence there, as did many independent TV production and broadcast companies.

  Christine worked for NWTV, a regional outfit, which covered news and made some ground-breaking documentaries. Her last two big projects had come from her working relationship with Vinnie Palmer and she just hoped that, as their relationship had started down a personal path, it wouldn’t affect their professional dynamics. Time would tell.

  She plonked herself down at her desk and started to log on to the systems. Although she had only been away a few days, she hated to think how many emails would be waiting. But what will be, and all that. Truth was, she loved working here. Like many, she had started her career in the print media and made the change some time ago. She loved the freedom and time it gave her to dig deeply into serious topics and stories. Sure, there were always deadlines, and sometimes they were crazy, but nothing compared to the manic bedlam that was a newspaper newsroom.

  Her editor, June, was in her glass-walled office set at the head of the main room where Christine worked, and was quickly out and over to her.