A Dark and Twisted Tide (39 page)

It was the tang of blood in her mouth that brought Lacey back to herself again, that salty, metallic taste, both comforting and terrifying at the same time. She licked her lips, fought back an urge to throw up, and opened her eyes.

Nothing was clear. The darkness felt like a friend, softening the impact of the swirling shapes and repeated images. She closed her eyes again and took stock.

She was on the silt-covered floor of the sewage tunnel, that much at least she was able to take in. There was light, which meant she probably wasn’t too far from the pumping station. She didn’t need to be able to see to know that she was sitting in several inches of water and probably had been for some time. She was freezing cold and in a great deal of pain. Much of it came from the injury to her head, some from where her arms had been pulled behind her back and tied together. The rest of it came from the rope fastened tightly around her neck. She tried to lean away from the wall but the rope stopped her. She turned her head and her worst fear was confirmed. She was tied, around the neck, to one of the mooring rings in the sewage tunnel wall. She couldn’t move far, she probably couldn’t stand up. And when the tide came back in, she’d be helpless.

‘Do you recognize this woman?’

The orderly from the clinic, Kathryn Markova, looked down at the photograph.

‘She does.’ Stenning was watching the interview on the screen. ‘Did you see her? Classic double-take. Keep at it, Gayle.’

‘She will,’ Dana told him. ‘I think Markova looks surprised though. Didn’t expect to see what she just did.’

Markova was shaking her head.

‘We call her Sahar. It’s a reconstruction,’ said Mizon in the interview room. ‘She was too badly damaged when we pulled her from the river. But this one wasn’t.’

As Mizon slid the other photograph across the table, there was no doubting the shock on Markova’s face.

‘It can’t be,’ she muttered to herself.

‘We found her three days ago,’ said Mizon. ‘She’d only been in the river a matter of days, so I’m guessing she was with you early last week. Did you look after her? Serve her meals? Take her down for treatment? Did you kill her?’

‘She was fine,’ said Markova. ‘She was with us for a few days and then she left. Nothing happens to them when they’re with us. We look after them. We aren’t doing this.’

‘Somebody is,’ said Mizon.

86

Pari, Dana and Lacey

IT WAS WORKING
. The sharp metal cleat Pari had found by fumbling around had cut a hole through the bag. It helped enormously, letting in fresh air and reducing the claustrophobia that had been threatening to send her over the edge. Now the same weapon was working its way through the tape around her wrists. The bastards had wrapped it round many times, but she was getting through it.

She had to keep going. It didn’t matter that she felt like death, she couldn’t stop. The problem was, the swell on the river had picked up and the pontoon was pitching about like a toy boat in a toddler’s bath. If she threw up with tape round her mouth, she’d suffocate. So every few seconds she had to stop, rest and breathe.

‘I think you’ll find that donating eggs is perfectly legal in this country, Detective Inspector,’ said Christakos.

Dana stared back. ‘I think you’ll find that taking body parts without consent is illegal in most countries. Murder certainly is. You’d better hope that abduction, imprisonment and assault are the most serious offences you’re charged with before the day is out.’

‘These women all came willingly into this country. They were free
to leave my clinic at any time. And they all signed consent forms.’

‘I don’t believe that for a moment,’ said Dana.

Christakos looked smug.

‘Where are these forms?’ Dana realized she’d boxed herself into a corner.

‘In a filing cabinet in my office. Along with receipts for money the women were given when they left the clinic. A comparable amount to paying a British donor expenses.’

No, he was not going to wriggle out of it that way. ‘The trouble is, some of them left via the Thames,’ said Dana. ‘The underwater route.’

‘I know nothing about that,’ said Christakos. ‘They were all perfectly well when we said goodbye to them.’

‘Even if they were forced or tricked into signing something,’ said Dana, ‘it proves nothing. How many of them can even read English?’

‘The procedure and its implications were explained to them very clearly. Most of our guests speak Pashto or Dari and I am fluent in both.’

‘Do you think they’ll say that in court?’

‘I doubt this will ever come to court,’ said Christakos. ‘For one thing, you’ll have to show a direct link between eggs or embryos in my clinic and women you know have spent time with us. And given the extremely sensitive nature of the organic material we store in the clinic, I’ll be surprised if any court gives you permission to confiscate and test it.’

‘Donated gametes leave a trail.’

‘But if, for the sake of argument, gametes were obtained improperly,’ said Christakos, ‘then the trail wouldn’t be there. I’m sorry, Detective Inspector, but the only charge you can legitimately lay at my door is the one of carrying out medical procedures in an unlicensed building, and that’s not even a criminal offence. I’ll probably lose my licence, but as I’m less than five years from retirement, that hardly seems a major issue.’

‘Where is the young woman who was in the room next to mine last night?’

‘I have no idea who you mean.’

‘Do you have any idea of the whereabouts of Constable Lacey Flint?’

For a second he looked shocked. ‘I had no idea Lacey was missing.’

Dana’s phone was ringing. It was Barrett, who was in charge of the search of East Street. She excused herself and left the interview room.

‘We’ve done this side of the river, Ma’am,’ Barrett told her. ‘I’m just outside a place called Sayes Court. Big house, right at the top of the creek. Anyway, turns out Alexander Christakos lives here with his sister.’

Dana turned to look through the window of the interview room. Christakos had his eyes closed.

‘Does he indeed?’ she said.

‘Has done for years, according to the sister. Nice old duck. We didn’t spot the connection immediately because she owns the house and it’s in her name, which is different. Seems Alex Christakos isn’t his real name, it’s one he adopted when they moved here, because he felt a Greek name would be more acceptable to the medical establishment and patients than one from South Asia. Guess what? They’re from Afghanistan.’

Christakos had dark hair and blue eyes, spoke both Afghan languages. He was a pale-eyed Pashtun, like the women he’d imported.

‘So I guess that explains how he slipped past us to get to the clinic this morning,’ Barrett was saying. ‘He must have used his sister’s boat.

‘Could also be how they got Pari out,’ replied Dana. ‘With some sort of heat-concealing cover to fool the surveillance equipment. This lot are people-smugglers, remember.’

‘More interestingly,’ said Barrett, ‘both of them know Lacey.’

I had no idea Lacey was missing.

She’d let that one go. Christakos had opened his eyes and was looking directly at her through the window. Dana couldn’t help feeling that he knew exactly what she was saying. She turned her back.

‘Know her how?’ she asked Barrett.

‘Christakos’s sister just said she and her brother are friends of Lacey’s. Getting quite upset as well. I’ve got one of the PCs making her tea.’

Dana looked at her watch. ‘Tom, I’m sending a team over,’ she said. ‘They obviously got the girl out via the creek and that house. I want it searched.’

The tide was coming back. Much as she’d have liked to pretend otherwise, Lacey knew she hadn’t been as wet half an hour ago. She couldn’t see her watch, had no idea of the time, but knew the tide would have been due to turn some time in the early afternoon.

Less than a year ago, she’d been pulled headlong into the river, had come within a frantic gasp of drowning. She remembered all too well the paralysing cold, the swirling, dense blackness, the complete helplessness of being at the mercy of fast-moving water. It was going to happen again.

Unless something serious had taken place, the operation in Sayes Creek would still be under way. All her colleagues’ eyes would be upon it. She wasn’t due back on shift until 10pm and wouldn’t be missed until then. Her only chance was Eileen.

The water in here wouldn’t be fast like last time. It would creep towards her, slowly, torturously, knowing she couldn’t escape.

Her neck was bleeding. She’d tried pulling at the rope to untie it, or even dislodge the mooring ring. She’d tried turning her head to gnaw at the knot, but whoever tied it knew their knots. It wasn’t budging.

Twice in the last year she’d found herself at the mercy of the Thames, the second time by choice. She’d leapt from a Marine Unit Targa in a rash attempt to save the woman she now knew as Nadia Safi.
Got you
, the rushing water had whispered, as its folds had closed over her head and she’d felt the barnacle-encrusted hand of panic reaching up from the river bed. She’d beaten it that time, had saved herself and the terrified Afghan woman. Had she really, stupidly, thought that she and the river had made some sort of truce?

And now a rat was paying her more attention than she felt comfortable with. How long before it plucked up the courage to climb down on to her shoulder and get closer to the blood seeping out of the wounds on her neck?

You can’t ever drown
, Marlene had said.
That’s the legend among watermen. If you cheat death in the water, the river loses its power to harm you
.

Claptrap
, Thessa had snapped back.
Of course you can drown. Don’t you dare take silly risks
.

She’d taken an unforgivably stupid risk coming here, bringing Nadia here. And now, it seemed the only question remaining was which would get to her first: the tide or the rat?

87

Dana and Pari

‘
SAHAR’S REAL NAME
was Anya Fahid,’ Mizon told the rest of the group. ‘The body we found on Lacey’s boat was that of Rabia Khan. Both from Afghanistan. Both smuggled into the country illegally. Markova’s adamant, though, that none of the girls are harmed in any way. When the treatment cycle is over, they’re placed with people who are genuinely offering jobs and homes. There’s a network of Afghan families in London who help out. She thinks the egg business is a small price to pay for a new life.’

‘Is she telling the truth?’ asked Barrett, who’d just arrived back.

‘I think she might be,’ said Mizon. ‘She seemed genuinely upset. Although I can’t help feeling she’s not telling us everything. She’s very vague about when and how these women leave the clinic. Says she doesn’t get involved with that side of things.’

‘If Kaytes is right, then the treatment they’re being subjected to, whilst unpleasant, won’t actually kill them,’ said Mark.

‘It doesn’t kill them,’ said Dana. ‘These women are drowning. There’s something else going on. Christakos has no need to kill these women and plenty of reason to keep them alive. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, nor does he want to run unnecessary risks. I think he’s a people-trafficker. I think he’s exploiting vulnerable young women and defrauding childless
couples, and I think he’s an all-round sleaze bag, but I don’t think he’s a killer.’

‘So who the hell is?’ said Anderson. ‘The mermaid?’

The tape was more than half cut through. Pari tried to tear the rest, but it was too strong. On with the pulling, sawing action. Almost there. Pull again. Backwards and forwards and she was free. She tore the plastic apart until she could pull it up over her head and breathe fresh air again.

Darkness. A darkness with stars and the lights from the city, but darkness all the same. A whole day had passed while she’d been tied up and they’d be coming back. She pushed herself on to her knees and looked round. Not too far from the middle of the river. She was moored fifty yards or so off the north bank, on a rubbish barge, as she’d guessed.

There were eight large skips on the barge and she was in one of them. The skip wasn’t full, and anyone passing in daylight, even coming quite close, wouldn’t have seen her.

Pari twisted round until her ankles were touching the metal cleat and started sawing again. It wasn’t so easy with her feet, but she had her hands to guide her and every few seconds she looked up to see if a craft was approaching. Nothing, though. The water was quiet tonight. Keep sawing.

‘You know who she is, don’t you? The woman who’s killing these girls.’

Christakos stared back at Dana with his large, dark-blue eyes. Hours in custody were starting to take their toll. His face looked strained, and the lines around his eyes seemed to have deepened.

Dana leaned forward, resting her arms on the table between them. ‘The woman who swims as though she was born in the water. The one who’s been seen in the river from time to time, by watermen who just assume they’re overtired or have had one drink too many. The one who gave rise to the legend of the Creek mermaid.’

Christakos raised his eyebrows and gave a little start. He was good, just a fraction too slow for the surprise to be convincing.

‘She attacked Constable Flint a couple of nights ago,’ said
Anderson, while Dana was still thinking about her next move. ‘At the same time that we apprehended two men heading towards your East Street premises with a young Afghan woman. She’s got a bit of a thing about Lacey, been hanging round her boat, playing tricks, trying to frighten her. Then the other night, she upturned Constable Flint’s canoe and tried to drown her. All this happened in the South Dock Marina, where we found two more bodies.’

‘Detective Sergeant, I don’t mean to sound flippant, but if young women frolic in the Thames in the small hours, they can expect to find themselves in difficulties.’ Christakos stifled a yawn. ‘I still don’t see what any of this has to do with me.’

‘Two young women whom we can definitely connect to your clinic, because your assistant has recognized them, were pulled out of the river this summer,’ said Anderson.