The superintendent was quiet for a moment, studying Karen so intently she felt like a specimen under a microscope. Eventually, Murray said, ‘I’ve spoken to the chief constable, and he’s pleased you’re working this case with your first-hand knowledge of the Perrys. But if you feel uncomfortable, I could put you back on the murder case and assign another DS to work with DI Morgan on this one.’
Karen shook her head, not surprised the superintendent had spoken to the chief constable about the case already. A modern slavery case brought a lot of publicity. Karen was surprised the chief constable had mentioned her, though. ‘No, ma’am, I’d like to see this case through. My previous experience with the Perrys could prove helpful.’
Despite the fact her stress levels were through the roof, Karen kept her voice calm. She had a bad feeling about the Perrys, but the last thing she wanted was to be shunted from the case. The Perrys had got away with their misdeeds last time. Karen wanted to make sure that didn’t happen again.
‘All right. But if they say anything else that could be construed as even vaguely threatening, you tell me.’
‘Absolutely, ma’am.’
The superintendent ran a hand through her unusually messy hair. ‘This hasn’t been the most restful Sunday.’ She smiled at Karen. ‘Once Vishal is settled in the custody suite, go home and get some rest.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Karen walked over to her desk.
‘And Karen?’ the superintendent called when she was halfway across the office.
Karen turned. ‘Yes?’
‘You can come and talk to me if you’re finding it tough . . . I realise your first interaction with the Perrys came at a difficult time.’
Though she didn’t say so overtly, Karen knew she was referring to the accident.
‘Thanks, ma’am. I appreciate it.’
DI Morgan yawned and pushed himself back from his desk. Karen had gone home a couple of hours ago, but he’d wanted to stick around and make sure the warrant came through and was actioned.
He rubbed his hands over his face and contemplated getting another coffee. He didn’t usually have any trouble staying bright and alert when he was working a case, but sitting in front of his computer and waiting for news on the warrant was sending him to sleep. He’d used some of the time to look up Vishal on the available databases, but like Karen, he’d found no evidence of him entering the country.
A quick trip to the custody suite to have a chat with Vishal didn’t give him any answers either. Vishal was sullen and quiet. That was understandable. They were supposed to be helping the men, liberating them from exploitation, yet they’d put him into one of the cells overnight. Sure, it was cleaner and more comfortable than the garage, but he was still not able to come and go freely.
When Morgan entered the cell, Vishal regarded him with a mournful gaze. He’d brought a chocolate bar and a can of Coke, and Vishal took them without uttering a word.
‘This is just for tonight,’ Morgan explained. ‘We need to assess how you got into the country before we can let you go.’
Vishal’s steady gaze didn’t waver.
‘Can you tell me about how you got into the country? Did you have a visa?’
Vishal shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago. I came because I have family here.’
‘Right. Did you fly in?’
Vishal was quiet for a moment and then said, ‘I can’t remember.’
It was looking more and more likely that Vishal had entered the country illegally, which meant eventually it would be out of Morgan’s hands.
He left Vishal munching the chocolate and went to check on the warrant again.
It had come back unauthorised.
He stared at the computer screen in disbelief. What had he done wrong? Filled in the wrong sections?
Morgan scanned through the document again, looking for his mistake, and then saw he’d filed without attaching the supporting information.
What was wrong with him? He groaned and leaned back in his office chair. That was hours wasted. It was a rookie error.
He wasn’t looking forward to telling the superintendent, but he had to own his mistakes.
The phone rang for a long time before she answered.
Her voice was sleepy. ‘Superintendent Murray.’
‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, it’s DI Morgan. I’m afraid I made an error filing the warrant. It’s come back unauthorised.’ He explained his mistake.
‘Well, file it again, and DI Freeman will have to action the search when it comes through.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s not like me to make an error like this.’
‘I know it isn’t. But you’ve had a busy week and had two demanding cases today. You need to get home and get some rest, so you’ll be on better form tomorrow.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Only . . .’
‘Only what?’
‘We’ve released the Perrys. They’re going to know we’ll be searching the property soon. It’s highly likely they’ll try to get rid of any evidence before the warrant is actioned.’
‘It can’t be helped,’ the superintendent said. ‘Besides, the best evidence we have is the three men the Perrys were keeping in their garage. I need you fresh tomorrow, because questioning them will influence the outcome of this case.’
Morgan thanked the superintendent and hung up.
That could have been worse. She was frustrated but hadn’t taken it out on him. It had been a genuine mistake. Errors happened – but not usually to him. Not since the last time. He checked and rechecked his paperwork before filing, and was careful to fill in everything correctly.
But now, here in Lincolnshire, he had found himself relaxing, letting his guard down a bit, and that was probably why he’d screwed up.
Rubbing a weary hand over his face, he sighed. Then he checked the document three times, making sure every item of supporting information was attached before hitting ‘Send’.
After turning off his computer, he reached for his jacket and switched off the light in his office.
He stood there for a moment in the dark, berating his sloppiness.
He had responsibilities. He couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes like this.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Grace Baker stood at the kitchen window making herself a cup of hot milk. It was three a.m., and for the fourth night in a row she hadn’t been able to sleep. Her little cat, Dolly, was at her heels.
She smiled fondly at the Burmese.
‘Sorry, Dolly, no hot milk for you, I’m afraid.’ She added a hefty slug of whiskey to the milk.
She’d never been much of a drinker before, but these days it seemed to be the only thing that got her off to sleep.
Grace moved over to the stove, her slippers shuffling against the stone tiles. Carefully, she poured the hot milk from the saucepan into her large ‘World’s Best Sister’ mug.
Her sister, Jean, had given it to her three weeks ago for her birthday. She smiled.
Since her husband had died, she’d been growing closer to Jean. Despite the fact her sister had a large family and a stressful full-time job, she always made time for Grace. Jean didn’t have much money, but she made the best of things, and she was always cheerful.