CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

 

Rosie slipped in behind a group of four or five youngsters and tried to listen to their conversation. It was clear that they were already pretty pissed, even before they got to the free booze. Rosie felt anger rising. These silly kids were such easy prey for the perverts. She took a deep breath. She needed to keep her concentration levels on high and miss nothing.

One the girls ahead of her was hanging onto a skinny, spiky-haired youth and jabbing an accusatory finger at him as she lurched unsteadily along beside him. ‘And you can keep your leery eyes off that ginger slapper if she turns up again tonight. I saw you, Calvin, with your tongue hanging down to your belly-button.’

Calvin shrugged and gave a little giggle. ‘Dunno who you’re talking about. Do you, Billy?’

The other boy kicked at an empty drink can as he sauntered along, hands stuffed deep into his jeans pocket. ‘Nah, unless you mean the tart with the tramp stamp?’

Rosie tried to hide a smile. Luckily she was pretty clued up on urban speak and knew that the boy was referring to the fact that the girl had a tattoo just above the crack of her bottom.

The other two girls, who were tottering along, arm in arm, in high-heeled fashion boots, laughed loudly. ‘Yeah! We saw you Calvin. Couldn’t take your eyes off her tits, could you?’

Calvin continued to stroll along, calmly saying, ‘Bollocks. You were all too wasted to know what was happening.’

Rosie kept close, hoping to slip into the venue as part of the group, but as they moved towards the dark hulk that was the boathouse, she decided to hang back and go in alone. If there was to be any form of confrontation, it may be better done away from other kids.

As it turned out, it was easy.

‘I don’t know you.’ The man who stood just inside the door, was slim, well-dressed with a hint of a northern accent. He took her wrist and held her back from entering.

‘I’m a friend of Luke.’ said Rosie with a bored smile. ‘He can’t make tonight, but he told me I might enjoy myself.’ She looked the man full in the eyes and said. ‘Do you think I’d enjoy myself here?’ She ran her tongue slowly around her scarlet lips.

The man let go of her hand, smirked and nodded for her to go through into the musty smelling building. ‘Oh, I should think you’ll have a ball, angel. Maybe several, if you’re lucky.’ He grinned at her, ‘And if you do have a good time and want to try it again, come and see me before you leave. Maybe I can arrange to make you a regular.’

‘Thank you.’ Rosie blew him a kiss and disappeared into the boathouse. She assumed being a ‘regular’ meant getting onto their text list. ‘Oh, so easy’, she whispered, knowing that Scott would be somewhere close-by listening to her every word.

Music was coming from somewhere up ahead, and Rosie followed some other revellers through a big deserted area with metal racks protruding from the walls. She guessed the rowing boats must have been stored there before the fire.

‘This way.’ A man was standing in the shadows, ushering the teenagers into a big crowded back room. There were a dozen small tables set out with empty wine bottles with candles in them, and considering what a dump it was, the whole room had an odd cosy feel to it. The techno music was loud and the beat thumped through her body, making her wonder what affect it would have on her microphone.

‘Drink? It’s free.’ An older man took her arm and drew her towards a table crammed full of beer and cider cans and dozens of plastic glasses of wine. ‘You’re new, aren’t you?’ He looked around, ‘And all alone?’ He looked at her inquisitively. ‘Now would that be gutsy, or foolish, I wonder?’

Rosie took a mental photograph of the man. Around forty, thin straggly hair, small eyes, narrow sharp nose, waistband of his cheap suit fighting with his gut, and very bad taste in clothes.

‘I do as I please,’ she said disdainfully, picking up a glass of white wine that she had absolutely no intention of drinking. ‘I don’t need a bodyguard.’

‘Well, it gets pretty intense here as the night goes on. I hope you’re up for it.’

I’m up for seeing you in a holding cell, you scum-bag, thought Rosie, but she just shrugged in a disinterested fashion and said, ‘I like intense.’

The man leered at her and she felt his eyes tugging at her short shiny red mini- skirt.

‘So how did you find out about us?’ He asked, sipping something that looked like neat Scotch from a straight-sided glass.

‘A friend told me.’

‘And who would that friend be?’ His piggy eyes never left hers.

‘Luke, if it’s any of your business.’

‘Luke Barlow?’

Rosie thought quickly. Luke and Chloe’s surname was Perry, but did he use an alias when he came here? ‘Luke with black hair and a blonde Mohican stripe, and breath that could unblock drains.’

‘Ah.’ The man gave a tiny smile of recognition, then stepped away from her. ‘Well, enjoy yourself, sweetheart. Eh, what is your name?’

‘Petra,’ said Rosie, then remembering why she was there, said, ‘What’s yours?’

The man’s lips tightened, then he stared hard at her. Clearly no-one of her age had ever asked that question before. ‘Harry,’ he answered.

‘Dirty Harry?’ she enquired, running her fingers across the lapel of his cheap suit.

She saw the man’s Adam’s apple jog up and down. ‘Sometimes,’ he whispered hoarsely.

Rosie took that as her cue to leave. ‘Then see you later, Harry.., maybe.’ Or maybe not, you tosser!’ she whispered, and moved towards some kids who were swaying and gyrating around a make-shift dance floor. No-one took any notice of her as she danced between them, then she found a spot on the far side of the room where she could get a good look around.

She needed to find a ‘regular’, one that would talk to her. She pretended to sip her wine as she checked out any possible candidates. It needed to be a boy; the girls would most likely not be friendly. If the kids on the way in were anything to go by, they would see her as a threat.

After a while she spotted a slightly older looking young man, sitting alone with only a can of lager for company. As far as she could tell, there were no girls hanging around him, and he hadn’t made any effort to either dance or chat anyone up.

‘Moving in for a word with a local,’ she whispered to the invisible Scotty.

‘This chair taken?’ she asked, not waiting for a reply before she sat down and crossed her long legs seductively in front of the young man.

‘Looks like it is now,’ he grumbled, and for a moment she thought he was going to get up and move away.

‘I don’t know anyone here,’ she said softly.

‘Well, you’re not missing much.’ He looked around. ‘Load of wankers.’

‘Oh, I was told these parties are really cool.’ She gave him a shy smile. ‘My name’s Petra.’

The boy ran a hand through his shock of dark hair and looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You don’t look like one of the slags that this place usually attracts.’ He paused, then added. ‘I’m Will.’

‘Why do you come here if it’s such a crap ghetto?’

‘Good point.’ He took a long slug of his lager. ‘To keep an eye on someone who shouldn’t be here, but who seems to have some kind of a death wish.’

‘Girl friend? Sister?’

‘Dumb brother, actually.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘And he was such a cute kid, too.’ Will reached down beside his chair and lifted up a second sealed can of lager and passed it to her. ‘If you want a drink, Petra, have this. Never touch the wine or anything that anyone offers you that has already been opened.’

Rosie placed the wine down on the damp and scarred table and accepted the can. She peeled back the ring-pull, allowed the froth to settle, then sipped the drink. ‘I should have thought of that. You’ve actually seen drinks spiked?’

‘Regularly. It’s all part of the fun, so they tell me.’

‘And is that fun, too?’ She gestured with her head towards a long table that was cloaked with shadow at the very back of the room.

Three men sat around the far side of the table and watched the teenagers intently, especially one couple who were frantically groping at each others writhing bodies. A tiny red light told Rosie that one of the men was operating a small hand-held digital camcorder.

‘As I said. Wankers. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, or a free drink, Petra.’ He sniffed. ‘Oh, you’ll be alright tonight. They never try anything on your first visit, but after a couple of times, they’ll want payment, in some form or other. Know what a voyeur is?’

‘Better than you think,’ she murmured, knowing that he wouldn’t hear her above the throbbing music. She nodded to him. ‘If those guys are perverts, why doesn’t someone shop them?’ she asked in a manner that she hoped sounded naïve.

‘Because the men take pictures of everyone, and they warn you off by threatening to send copies to your parents, friends, teachers, the vicar, the papers, whoever they think would scare you the most.’ He looked rather sadly across the floor to where a younger boy was being fondled by a drunken girl with a tragic haircut and make-up that would have scared birds. ‘And as most of these idiots finish up half naked and off their heads, it’s not something they want to share with Mummy and Daddy.’

Rosie followed his gaze. ‘Your brother?’

Will nodded. ‘Sean. He’s only fourteen, but the way he’s going he’ll be lucky to make it another couple of months without picking up an STD.’

‘And he won’t listen to you?’ Rosie tried hard not to sound like an adult, but she had a feeling that Will was on the level.

‘He’s addicted to these parties. Apart from tying him down, the best I can do is just be here and watch out for him.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve no proof, but I reckon worse things happen here than just a few sick old blokes jerking off over some horny young girls.’

Rosie swallowed. ‘Like what?’

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. And I’m probably wrong, but I think certain girls are ‘picked out’ by some of the old men, if you know what I mean, for other things.’

‘Dirty bastards!’ she hissed. ‘I assume you mean for sex?’

‘What else would they want them for?’ Will said morosely. ‘I’ve seen some of them taken to one side, then later, they’ve gone, just disappeared.’ He turned a serious gaze on Rosie. ‘You don’t belong here. Get out while you can, and don’t come back.’

‘I may just do that, Will. Tell me, have you ever met a girl called Emily while you’re here?’

Will shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. Why?’

‘She’s a friend of mine,’ Rosie lied. ‘She went all secretive on me, and I haven’t seen her for a few days. I wondered if she had been coming here, that’s all.’ She looked around again. ‘But what about you? Surely the men that run these parties notice that you don’t.., eh, well, join in?’

Will smiled at her. ‘Well, I’m not actually dead from the waist down. For the sake of watching out for Sean, I do occasionally find a fit bird and have a quick game of tonsil hockey.’

Rosie laughed out loud. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t seen too many fit birds here so far.’

‘No? I thought I was looking at one right now.’

Rosie stiffened. There was no mistaking the look in Will’s eyes, and she wondered just how far she needed to go in order not to blow her cover.

 

Scotty laughed softly in the darkness. They had found a small deserted out-building attached to the derelict mill and almost directly behind the boathouse. The signal from Rosie’s hidden microphone was strong, and the hi-tec equipment sensitive enough to filter out the background noises to a degree that left Rosie’s speaking voice, even a whisper, coming through to him crystal clear.

‘I do believe that girl is enjoying herself,’ he said with a knowing smile.

‘What the hell do you mean by that, Scott?’ Jon’s tone was hard as nails, and it made Kate’s head snap up in surprise.

‘Just that she’s getting on with the job rather well, Sarge.’ Scott sounded nonplussed. ‘She’s acting out her part as a teenage raver very convincingly.’

Kate watched as Jon fought to hold his temper. ‘She shouldn’t be in there. Come on, for God’s sake, tell us what she’s saying, Scotty.’

Scott paused. ‘She’s not actually saying anything at the moment, but I am recording everything. You can hear it all later.’

He went back to listening, passing on small snippets as they came through to him, then he suddenly jumped up. ‘She getting out, ma’am. She’s seen someone she recognises.’ He listened again. ‘She says to meet her where we dropped her off, in five minutes’

Jon was first to the door of the old store-room and before Kate could even stand up, he had run out into the night.

As she followed him she wondered again which of her two possible scenarios was right, because his actions could have been the same for either.

It took a little longer than Rosie had said, but ten minutes after her last message, they saw her hurrying towards them.

‘Are you okay?’ Jon had run on ahead. ‘Shit! You had us scared.’

Rosie raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m fine, absolutely fine, Sarge. It was just that I recognised a man who turned up just a short while ago, and I couldn’t allow him to identify me as a cop, could I?’

‘Who was he?’ asked Kate.

‘That’s the problem, Guv.’ Rosie shook her head. ‘I can’t place him. I just knew him the moment I saw him, but try as I might I can’t recall where from.’

Kate put her arm around Rosie. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll come back to you when the adrenalin has worn off. And well done, Flower. Let’s get back to the station and debrief you.’

As they drove back, Rosie described the man as shabbily dressed in scruffy chinos, a polo shirt and a nylon sports jacket. He was tall and had slicked back hair and wore wire-rimmed glasses.

‘Probably someone you’ve helped put away at some time or another.’ said Scott. ‘Maybe a look through the sex-offender’s file might jog your memory.’

‘Yeah, good idea.’

‘And excuse me for saying so, but it sounded as if you were getting pretty cosy with your little friend Will.’ Scotty gave her a lecherous smirk. ‘Things were getting a bit steamy, weren’t they?’

Rosie cuffed the back of Scott’s head. ‘Mind your own business. Will was very helpful. He’s told me quite a lot, and I have his mobile number if we need to follow anything up.’

‘Cradle-snatcher.’

‘Eave’s dropper.’

‘Just shut up, you two,’ growled Jon. ‘This is serious! It’s no joking matter.’

‘We know that.’ murmured Scotty.

They drove the rest of the way back in silence, and Kate knew that she now had the answer to her little conundrum.

It was no case of bad vibes about the operation, like it or not, Jon Summerhill had the hots for Rosie McElderry.