Where had Blunt gone? He had returned to the station some hours earlier. He felt that he couldn't achieve much at the fire scene. He wanted time to think.
He had sat down in his chair, swung it round and looked out of the window.
He just sat there staring out of the window. His mind blank for a few moments. He leaned back, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He pictured the burn out house at Gladstone Street. He pictured the dead girl's body in the morgue. Six deaths that they knew of . And to what end? Something nagged him; just a little voice in the back of his mind.
A knock on the door kick-started him from his reverie.
The custody sergeant came into the room.
'What shall we do about the Russians sir'
'How do you mean?' enquired a slightly disorientated Blunt.
The desk sergeant wondered why everyone thought the guy in front of him was a good detective. He didn't seem all there.
'He's running a case and hardly seems to know that we have his main suspects banged up in our cells with their solicitor screaming blue murder.' The sergeant thought
'Well sir, we've just about reached the limit for holding them and if we don't charge em we have to let 'em walk'
'Charge Morski and Pidrik with first degree murder, running a house of ill repute, acting as pimps, people trafficking and remand them in custody. The woman charge her with running a house of ill repute, false imprisonment and people trafficking. Remand her in custody. The other women get immigration and let them deal with them' Blunt responded warily.
'Ok sir' the custody sergeant replied and left the room.
Ten minutes later Blunt's phone rang,
'Sir, the Russians solicitor is going ape-shit. He's creating a scene saying that we have no real evidence regarding murder to charge his clients and that it is an abuse of police powers to remand his clients in custody'
'Sergeant, charge them. Put reasonable cause down and tell their solicitor that he should know what to do if he wants to change matters'
'Yes sir'
After Blunt put the phone down he glanced at the flip charts that contained some of the team's thoughts to date.
He looked long and hard. Again the nagging thought returned.
He felt that the tectonic plates of the underworld were beginning to shift. Imperceptibly maybe; but they were beginning to shift.
They needed as much information about the fire as soon as possible.
He sat for a few moments and then got up walked out of the building. As he left the custody sergeant attempted to waylay him.
'Sergeant, you are an experienced man deal with it' he shrugged the man off.
'Fuck you too' thought the sergeant his eyes boring into the other man's back as he left the building.
Fifty minutes later Blunt parked his car at the Winterton car park. £1.00 it cost him to attempt to find a space. He didn't remember a thing about the drive. He walked up onto the dunes and looked out over the beach.
He heard the playful screams and laughter of children and adults frolicking on the sand and in the sea. The odd bark of dogs joining in the fun. Blue sky, blue sea, golden sands and a warm breeze. Almost idyllic. Without noticing he had stumbled across and startled a courting couple.
He walked on so as not to disturb them further. They caused his mind to flood with memories of Anjii. Thoughts of what might have been but maybe could never have been. He wondered what she had thought when she died, if she had thought at all. Had she thought of him or had she thought of Rafique?
He snatched his mind back to the present and surveyed the beach once more. A young woman had been found here a few days ago. Her body had been sexually abused and she definitely worked as a prostitute at the Pitt Street house. She had been enticed to England by the hopes and dreams of a better life. What did she get? A life of being sexually abused with no hope realizing her dreams. And if she had reached old age, she would have been discarded like the leftovers of a meal.
His mind then wondered to the interview he and Ahmed had conducted at Gladstone Street. He made a mental note to question Ahmed about SO10. The haunted look that had crossed his face intrigued Blunt. However, that could come later. Something niggled him and niggled him. He couldn't nail it.
'Damn', he expostulated out loud and strode off to his car.
A traffic car had pulled him over just south of Acle for speeding and got an earful for their pains. Blunt was not making many friends in Norfolk.
Once in his office he hit the phones. After two hours of chasing and harrying and awaiting return phone calls he got the answers he thought he was looking for.
He sat back and deeply exhaled. Then he sprang forward and dialled Cushion's extension.
It did not ring for long 'Cushion' came the response.
'Steve, are you all back from Gladstone Street?'
'Yes, a few minutes ago. We were all wondering where you were'
'I want you all up here now!' he slammed the phone down before Cushion had chance to respond. He jumped out of his chair and began pacing around the room.