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  “Nice place for camping, isn’t it?” Caslin stated with a degree of sarcasm, glancing at the damp patches on the floor, caused by the leaky, asbestos-sheeted roof. There were discarded food wrappers nearby, alongside a few empty soft-drink cans and a half-eaten sandwich. “Anything to indicate whose been sleeping here?”

  “Not yet but my guess is it was recent. There are a couple of tablets and a laptop inside for Tech to get stuck into. They might shed some light on what Soriza’s got going on.”

  “How about his car, the SUV? Any sign of it?”

  “No but there’s a transit parked on the hard standing to the front of the garage,” Hunter said. “Forensics are already arranging transportation.”

  “Okay,” Caslin said, pursing his lips. “Let’s strip this place clean and see if we can get a link to Natalie. Perhaps Soriza has a plausible reason for all of this.”

  “I’m going to enjoy hearing that,” Hunter replied dryly.

  “My client wishes to make a statement before we go any further,” Michael Jarvis, Soriza’s solicitor, said evenly.

  “We’re looking forward to hearing his explanation,” Caslin replied.

  “Martin is prepared to hold his hands up to the possession and distribution of the counterfeit items found at his residence. Furthermore, he is willing to cooperate fully with your investigation regarding the supply chain of the said items.”

  “That is big of him,” Caslin replied. “Considering that he’s bang to rights.”

  “Obviously there would be an expectation of a quid pro-quo arrangement, regarding an appearance before the courts.”

  “I think that you are labouring under a misapprehension.”

  “How so?”

  Caslin leant forward, “We’re far less interested in knocking out dodgy imports than looking for a missing girl.” Jarvis glanced across at his client who shifted nervously in his seat but said nothing.

  “What girl?” the solicitor asked.

  “Perhaps Mr Soriza would like to answer?” Caslin offered. “Bearing in mind that the sleeping bag, taken from his garage, is undergoing testing on the blood stains found on it.”

  Soriza folded his arms across his chest before meeting Caslin’s gaze, “What of it?”

  “An initial field test gave us the Blood Type O. Coincidentally, this is the same group as our missing girl. Can you offer an explanation for that?”

  Soriza shrugged, “Could be anyone’s. I understand that to be a common enough type. Hell, it might even have been there when I took on the house. That garage was full of stuff. It’s probably not even mine. Do I look like the camping sort?”

  “Should the DNA come back to the person we suspect,” Caslin indicated to Jarvis, “then your client will be facing kidnapping, blackmail and potentially, a murder charge. My suggestion at this point would be to advise him that he should be a little more helpful.” Caslin locked eyes with Soriza, who let a half-smile briefly cross his face. “Nothing to say, Mr Soriza?”

  “No comment.”

  “Where is your car, Mr Soriza?”

  “Don’t have one,” he replied dismissively.

  “That’s not what the DVLA are telling us,” Caslin challenged. “You’ve owned a white Toyota Land Cruiser for the last three years.”

  “Oh, that car,” Soriza said with a sneer.

  “Yes, that car. Where is it?”

  “Sold it, months ago.”

  “Who to?”

  “Don’t remember.”

  “It’s still registered to you.”

  “Not my fault, I gave him the V5 and sent off my part. Bloody Royal Mail. It’s never been the same since they privatised it. You can’t rely on anyone, these days.”

  “Where exactly are you going with this, Inspector?” Jarvis asked. “Do you have something specific in mind, with this line of questioning? My client is being cooperative but thus far, you are not getting to the point.”

  “The point, Mr Jarvis, is that the vehicle registered to your client,” Caslin took out a copy of the parking ticket and a still from the CCTV near to the bank, laying them on the table, “is involved in the abduction of a young girl. The photograph is of the vehicle believed to be driven by the kidnapper, whilst obtaining access to some of the ransom money. We would like some answers.”

  Jarvis scooped up the photograph and compared it to the parking ticket before putting them both down, with a look of disdain. “Firstly, how does this prove the car in question has anything to do with the abduction? There is no shot of the license plate or the driver. Secondly, and most importantly, you have a parking ticket relating to my client’s vehicle, which he denies being in possession of. I see nothing that proves these vehicles to be one and the same, let alone that Mr Soriza is involved in what you allege. Please tell me you have something more to go on, than this?”

  Caslin glanced at Hunter before seeing the return of Soriza’s smile, except this time it broadened into a wide grin.

  “I believe we should suspend the interview for a comfort break,” Caslin said. Jarvis was right. Until their forensic analysis of the house was complete and without the car, or self-incrimination, they had little to progress with. Both Soriza and his solicitor knew that.

  Once clear of the interview room, Caslin let out a deep sigh of frustration. Hunter came alongside, leaning her back against the wall.

  “He’s a savvy one,” she said.

  “They both are,” Caslin replied, “and Jarvis is also correct. At the moment, we’re clutching at straws. Unless something comes back from Iain Robertson and his CSI team, we’ve got no leverage. Jarvis is representing Soriza’s other half, too.”

  “So, there’ll be no give with her, either.”

  “Exactly,” Caslin replied, a wave of dejection washing over him. “Get on to Iain. Tell him we need something and we need it now.”

  “Will do, Sir,” Hunter said, before heading back towards CID. Caslin felt his frustration mounting. Fatigue was setting in and rubbing at his face, he observed his left-hand shaking. He made a fist and then relaxed the grip but it made little difference. His mind wandered to the forthcoming doctor’s appointment and he was suddenly fearful. What if a prescription renewal wasn’t forthcoming? There were other avenues, familiar to him, but it was nearly a year since he bought anything off the street and he had little appetite for it. For the moment at least, Caslin sought some fresh air. Making his way from the custody suite, he took a right and headed for the main entrance. He acknowledged a couple of officers passing in the opposite direction as he crossed the lobby and went outside.

  The sun was high and with very little in the way of cloud cover, the early afternoon was pleasantly warm. Caslin had his hands in his pockets as he walked, his mind churning with their position in both of his primary cases. Each had leads to follow, some more promising than others but neither investigation had delivered the breakthrough he would’ve hoped for by now. His phone rang in his pocket and he answered it without checking the number.

  “Hi Nate,” Sara said. “If I didn’t know better, I would say that you’ve been avoiding me.”

  Caslin snorted involuntarily, before smiling, “I’m sorry, Sara. I’ve just been-”

  “Busy…ah-hah,” she replied. “The curse of a policeman.”

  “Alright,” Caslin said with contrition, “I may have been avoiding you, ever so slightly. I have also, however, been busy.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Listen, I’m still in York, is there any chance we can meet up?” she asked. Caslin didn’t reply. “Nate…are you still there?”

  Caslin stopped walking; he hadn’t seen the approach of the Jaguar. Now it was stationary against the kerb, less than ten feet away from him. A suited man stood, casually leaning against the passenger side, beckoning Caslin to the open rear door. It was a face that he recognised.

  “I’ll have to call you back,” he said to Sara flatly, before hanging up.

  “Good afternoon, Inspector.”

  “Good afternoo
n, Karl,” Caslin replied cautiously. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Mr Durakovic would like a word with you. If you please,” Karl said, indicating once again, for him to get in the car. “Mr Durakovic felt it polite to arrange transportation, seeing as your car is off the road.” Caslin took a fleeting glance around before getting in, Karl closing the door behind him. The driver started the engine as Karl occupied the remaining front seat and they moved off, turning right onto Fulford Road and heading towards the city.

  “What does your boss want to talk to me about?” Caslin asked. Neither man in the front responded. “Where is Durakovic?” Caslin asked, gazing out of the window as he spoke.

  “You will see, soon enough,” Karl replied. “Your phone, please.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Caslin asked.

  “Please give me your phone,” Karl reiterated. Evidently the request was not optional in its take up. Caslin took the handset from his pocket and pressed it into Karl’s waiting hand, who promptly switched it off.

  “Can I have a receipt for that?” Caslin asked quietly, Karl laughed. It was genuine.

  “I will return it once you have spoken with Mr Durakovic.”

  The conversation ended there as Karl refused to interact further. Caslin paid attention to the route that they took, circumventing the centre via the ring road and heading towards a large industrial complex, on the fringes of York. The site housed multiple warehouse units for all manner of companies. Caslin noted the premises of several large hauliers, as well as units leased to smaller firms he hadn’t heard of. They made their way through to the far end, entering a secure compound that bore no signage. Their approach must have been noted for as they slowed, a rolling shutter lifted and the driver eased into the warehouse beyond.

  Caslin eyed another vehicle, a Range Rover, parked near the centre and they came to a stop. Two men were next to the vehicle and another, Anton Durakovic, stood a short distance away to the right. Karl left the vehicle, opened Caslin’s door, and ushered him out. Approaching warily, Caslin took in his surroundings. The warehouse appeared to be little used. There were empty pallets stacked at one end and off to his left were packing crates, the contents of which he could only guess at. Beyond them were a flight of stairs leading to a mezzanine area, probably housing office facilities but that was in darkness.

  “Nice place you have here,” Caslin said, his voice carrying in the vast emptiness.

  “One of my new premises,” Durakovic replied, turning to face the approaching Caslin. “Officially we are not operating here yet but will be, soon enough.”

  “As much as I appreciate the tour of your business interests,” Caslin said, coming to stand before his host, “why on earth am I here?”

  “I felt that we should have a conversation.”

  “Is that so, regarding what?” Caslin questioned.

  “I am aware that you are taking an interest in what I do, Inspector Caslin. You know, as I well as I do, that I’m not overly-pleased about this.”

  “You made that clear on our first meeting,” Caslin stated.

  “Indeed, I did, and seeing as you have been so active in my affairs, I felt it prudent to do likewise.”

  Caslin felt momentarily self-conscious, “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “Oh please, do not be alarmed, Inspector,” Durakovic said with a smile. “When one is faced with an adversary, it would be negligent in the extreme to not consider him, would it not? A healthy level of arrogance is an asset for a man in my position but to dismiss your attention as insignificant would be considered foolish. Do you follow?”

  “If you say so,” Caslin said, trying to anticipate the course of this exchange.

  “You and I are not so dissimilar, Inspector Caslin.”

  Caslin laughed, turning the heads of Durakovic’s bodyguards, “I doubt that very much.”

  “Really, you do not see?” Durakovic shrugged. “We are both very focused on our end goals. Perhaps in themselves, they are different but nonetheless, we are both prepared to make great sacrifices to achieve them. Look at me. I had to leave all that I knew, all that I had, to come to your great country. This was a lot, I can tell you.”

  “I’m pleased you like it here.”

  “And what about you? You chose your path and it cost you what…your marriage, your career?”

  Caslin realised that Durakovic had been studying hard, “We make decisions throughout our lives before living with the consequences.”

  “No matter what the cost?”

  Caslin nodded, “I’m able to sleep at night.”

  “If only that were true, Inspector. At least, not without a little help, anyway,” Durakovic said, closing thumb and forefinger together, in front of an easy smile. Caslin felt a pang of anger in his chest, followed by one of fear as he considered just what Durakovic actually knew. Was he phishing?

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Caslin challenged, attempting to conceal the emotional turmoil threatening to surface.

  “It is far better for your blood pressure to remain calm,” Durakovic advised him. “Like I said, we are similar, you and I. We do what we have to, in order to get by.”

  “We are nothing alike,” Caslin said, a bitter edge to his tone. “People are afraid of you-”

  “As they are of you,” Durakovic countered. “People don’t like the police, Inspector Caslin. They like firemen, love them…but the police…no. Why is that, do you think?”

  Caslin shrugged, “You tell me.”

  “Because they are afraid of you…afraid of what you and your kind can do to them, if you so choose. In this, we are the same.”

  “Well, we’re both busy men,” Caslin said forcefully. “So, let’s cut through the bollocks and get to the point.”

  “You appear a little stressed, Inspector. Perhaps you are due some of your medication? Or do you need a little something…off the books?” Caslin tensed, fearful that his reaction would be easily transmitted to all those present. “You should not be surprised. There is little that goes on in this city that passes me by, Inspector. I would offer you my assistance, if I thought you would take it…with your little habit. I should say that quieter, shouldn’t I, just in case someone overhears?” he leant in, adopting a mock-conspiratorial tone. “That would be disastrous, wouldn’t it? To think how you would explain yourself to your colleagues, what with your prior disciplinary issues and all. Besides that, how could you look Sean and little Elizabeth in the eye, with a clear conscience? Parents should set an example to their children. You carry a confused message.”

  Caslin quelled the rising panic within him at the mention of his children. It must have been visible as he spoke, “What do you want?”

  “What do I want?” Durakovic stated, withholding a laugh and spreading his hands wide. “Nothing.”

  Caslin couldn’t help his scepticism, “Is that right?”

  “Don’t worry, I am a discreet man. I just felt it prudent to ensure we understood one another’s position, nothing more than that.” Caslin met Durakovic’s gaze. There was a great deal unspoken in that one look.

  “I see,” he said slowly.

  “Karl will drive you back to Fulford. As you say, we’re busy men,” Durakovic said, the smile fading, before turning his back. Their conversation was over. The sound of a car door opening nearby indicated that Karl was waiting.

  Chapter 20

  The ride back to Fulford Road was made in silence. Neither of Durakovic’s associates offered conversation and nor did Caslin seek it. The Jaguar pulled up to the kerb and Karl turned to face him, handing his mobile back without saying a word. Stepping out, Caslin pushed the door closed and watched as the car accelerated away. The queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach had subsided but the sense of vulnerability that came along with it, remained firmly in place. Powering his phone back up, it beeped with several notifications. Two were missed calls and a third indicated voicemail. Checking the calls first, he saw one was from DS Hunter an
d the other, Catherine Bermond. Accessing his voicemail account, Caslin only listened to the beginning of the recording before hanging up. Quickly, he dialled Hunter’s number, encouraging her to answer as the call connected.

  “Sir, where are-”

  “Out front,” Caslin interjected, “swing round and pick me up on the way past. And get a move on.”

  “Okay,” Hunter replied, slightly perplexed. “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll explain on the way but move…please…now.”

  Something in his tone must have resonated with Hunter because she didn’t say any more. Her car arrived from the rear of the station within a few minutes, Caslin clambering in before she even came to a halt.

  “City centre,” he instructed, clicking his seatbelt into place, in answer to Hunter’s questioning look, “Sebastian Bermond’s constituency office.”

  “Why are we going there?” Hunter asked, making the turn north, onto the Fulford Road.

  “It’s all going off.”

  The journey took less than ten minutes, with the benefit of the blue lights. A uniform car was already on the scene when they approached. Caslin ran inside, bypassing the unoccupied reception desk. Caslin needed only to follow the sounds coming to ear to know the whereabouts of those present. Entering Sebastian’s office, Caslin found two uniformed officers in a stand-off with Timothy Bermond. The latter stood over his father, laying prostate on the floor beneath him, blood pouring from several wounds to the face. For his part, Timothy’s white shirt had blood spatter across the chest but Caslin assessed it to be his father’s, rather than his own. More of a concern was the ornate letter-opener that Tim was brandishing at the responding officers, coupled with a contorted facial expression of barely-controlled rage.

  Caslin identified himself to his colleagues, drawing Timothy’s gaze in his direction. The two constables, one of whom had drawn his Taser, agreed to defer but held their stance.

  “Tim, I need you to think about what you’re doing here,” Caslin said slowly, trying to defuse the situation.