Richard was handed another folder. ‘From Poland, sir,’ the young DC explained.
Richard riffled through the faxes.
‘Let’s see.’ Janine moved closer. She wondered how long Sulikov had been smuggling women. How many Rosas and Marta had left family, home, friends and country to wash up in sleazy suburban brothels at the whim of men like Harper? ‘Do Poland know he’s into this?’ Janine asked Richard.
‘No reference here, but this is all history,’ he said dismissively. ‘They’re still collating further data.’ He scanned the document. ‘Started out as a teenager in gangs – smuggling alcohol and cigarettes.’
‘More money in human cargo these days,’ Janine observed. She was forming an image in her mind of the Pole: broad Slavic face, high forehead and wide cheekbones, a balding head, perhaps a scar. A cliché, she realised, a stereotype conjured up by the fearful reactions of the young women when his name had been mentioned, married to a clutch of corny images from Second World War films. She, of all people, should know that killers came in many guises: the bland and the attractive just as likely to be perpetrators as the wild or ugly-looking.
And a trafficker like Sulikov could rely on the silence of the people he transported. Living beyond the law, the illicit workers and their associates forfeit any protection from it. Unable to get help if they were robbed, beaten, starved or forced to work in dangerous situations. The death by drowning of nineteen Chinese cockle pickers in Morecambe Bay had sounded a wake-up call to government, but while the underlying cause of poverty and desperation remained there would always be people prepared to take a risk. And people making money from that need.
She looked at the clock. It was three-twenty. ‘What’s the time difference, here and Poland?’
‘They’re an hour ahead. I’ll get someone onto it now.’
‘Tell them it’s urgent. We don’t want to be hanging around waiting for them to get on board.’
‘I’ll ask them to take a look at his place. See if he’s there.’
‘Yes, but emphasise we don’t want him tipped off. And ask them for a photo. I’m trying to fix a meeting with Immigration – see how we handle it.’
‘Their way.’
‘Usually.’
There was often disagreement between local teams like hers and the immigration service on how over-stayers or illegal entrants were handled. Immigration, bound up in their own numbers game, favoured speedy deportations enabling them to tick boxes, though many acknowledged that the approach severely limited attempts to gather intelligence on the bigger players behind the scenes. For detectives it could mean watching while suspects or victims of other crimes were bundled away leaving a case in tatters.
