Cushion's desk had piles of messages stacked on it. All from people responding to the request for information. There were those who claimed to have known the floater, seen the floater, spoken to the floater etc. Experience had taught the detectives that ninety nine percent of the calls would eventually discounted.
'You get on well with Strumpshaw. Can't you get him to get us some help with this lot?' The Norfolk man grunted whilst pointing at his desk.
'Great' thought 'Ahmed 'I'm saddled for the foreseeable future with this Neanderthal yokel. Once the unit is up and running I'll be rid of him!'
They started sifting through the paper in as organised a manner as they could muster. A task not made easy by a young policewoman, Leibnitz, bringing in new piles every half hour or so. After about two and half hours of soul destroying shuffling and sorting through Cushion threw a piece across the desk to Saeed,
'This one looks interesting'
The other read it and responded 'Let's go'
Half an hour later Saeed and Cushion were parked on Gladstone Street just down the road from a newsagents and general store owned by a Mr Patel. Patel had left a message to the effect that he was sure that the floater had visited his shop on several occasions over the last few weeks and he thought that she lived in a house a few streets away.
Gladstone Street marked the boundary between a poor and a more affluent area. The Patel's shop delivered newspapers and magazines to the more affluent. The shop itself however catered for the poorer area or so it seemed from the customers going into the shop. The staggering gait of several of them indicated that they relied heavily on alcohol to get them through the day. An old and faded sign hung above the shop, 'Richardson's Stores'. Obviously a relic of some bygone owners.
There was nothing fancy about the shop. The fittings were old and the linoleum on the floor had cracked and wrinkled along the main walkways. A curry smell pervaded the air. Handwritten signs proclaimed special deals on quantities of cheap obscure brands of beer. A row of large bottles of cheap cider. Rows and rows of quart bottles of spirit on the wall behind the counter along with an impressive display of cigarettes and loose tobacco. It made Saeed think of his parents 'shop.
The man behind the counter looked to be in his early thirties. Height probably about six feet two, cropped hair and a body that looked to be athletic. He carried himself with a confidence verging on haughty. His gold necklace, gold bracelets and aftershave also struck an incongruous note in such surroundings. He seemed almost like a caricature of one of the stereotypes of Asian shopkeepers depicted by a popular TV soap. A fact that would have struck Cushion was it not for the fact that Saied had a taste for clothes and aftershave.
'Mr Patel?' enquired Cushion.
'Yes' came the reply devoid of any accent.
'Officers Cushion and Saeed. You rang in about the girl on the TV and in the newspaper'
Cushion took out the photograph of the girl and showed it to Patel.
'is this the girl?'
'Yes, that is correct. I am pretty certain that I have seen her.'
'When and where?' interjected Saeed.
Mr Patel cast a contemptuous glance at Ahmed which he did not fail to notice.
'She has been in here on several occasions over the last few weeks. She bought cigarettes and some chocolate. She was always very well dressed. Her clothes looked expensive I have also seen her at a house that has some other girls in it'. He hesitated before continuing, 'I don't know how to say it.....' he hesitated again, 'but men with expensive cars go into that house'
'What are you trying to say Mr Patel?'
They were interrupted by a customer coming into the shop,
'Do you stock bleach?' she asked Patel
'Excuse me a moment' he strode to the curtain that covered the doorway to the back of the shop.
'Anaa, can you come and deal with a customer' Patel ordered rather sharply.
'All I need to know is whether you stock bleach?'
'Grandmother is coming to deal with you' said Patel. A condescending tone accompanying his hauteur
A small old woman in traditional dress came through the door and looked warily at Patel.
'Anaa deal with this lady please'
The old woman nodded compliantly
'Sod it I'll go somewhere else!' The woman stormed out of the shop.
'Mr Patel, can we perhaps go into the back. We can leave your grandmother to look after the shop' requested Saeed who received another withering look from Patel.
They were taken to the upstairs living quarters. Although, Cushion enjoyed curry as much as the next man he found the ingrained smell in the Patel sitting room overpowering. It seemed as if the aroma had permeated the very fabric of the room. For Saeed it brought back memories of his childhood. The woman upstairs wearing an hajib, they took to be Patel's wife. Like Patel she glared at Saeed in a manner that almost bordered on hate, or so he thought. She disconcerted Cushion because he could not see her face.
The room was sparsely furnished with a three piece suite a TV and a large rug in the centre of the floor. This had a few dishes on it. An old teak veneer sideboard completed the furniture. On this were some photographs of children and other people. Obviously family thought the policemen with barely a glance at them.
Mr Patel gave them a full and signed statement about the woman and the house she lived in. His fear expressed, more than once, concerned what the people attached to the house may do to his family and himself. Eventually, the two policemen had satisfied him that they would ensure that nothing would happen to him and his family. Although Saeed thought that Patel did not seem the sort of man that scared easily. He shrugged the thought off with the rationalisation that Patel's fear centred on his family.
However, a flicker of concern momentarily crossed the shopkeeper's face when the Asian policeman stated that they may have to return to get statements from both Mrs Patels.
They slowly drove past the house on Pitt Street, number 27. A road of stately Victorian semis with portico'd entrances: reflecting that era's fascination with all things classical. Being sited on a hill each villa had stairs leading up to the portico.
Cushion explained that the residents of the street reflected the diversity of uses to which the houses were being put. Those that were not so well maintained had been divided into flats and bedsits. These were occupied by young people who were either students or unemployed. The well maintained properties had been purchased by young aspiring middle class families.
The remainder, reasonably maintained, contained a variety of offices ranging from accountants to the odd unheard of charity.
'An area then that sees lots of comings and goings. Ideal for an upmarket brothel. It's never been on your radar?' asked Saeed
'No. It must be relatively new. There is a lot going on at the moment. It seems that many groups, Russians, Poles, Lithuanians and Albanians are fighting for a share of the criminal activities that were controlled by Aktion fur Arbeit. It's difficult to get a handle on it.
Although it does appear that the Russians seem to be getting the upper hand from what we hear and from the odd bust that we have achieved'
They decided that they would return later that evening and keep an eye on the house for a few hours. Cushion readily acquiesced commenting that he would have to dig out his overtime forms