Payback

  The girl’s eyes clouded over and her confidence seemed to drain away. She sat staring at the duvet, the contents of her cup dangerously close to spilling. Leaning over, Frank took the cup from her hand and placed it on the bedside cabinet with a muted chink, then studied her face, trying to remember her name.

  She looked up at him, the defiance in her eyes gone now, replaced by a dull fear. “If they find out I’ve been talking to you, they’ll hurt me,” she said flatly.

  “Who?”

  “Altaf and that big ape of his, Farris.”

  Her name suddenly flashed into Frank’s mind. “Look Chantelle, why don’t we start with me asking you a few questions, that okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay then. For a start, how did you find out about me? Were you friends with Mandy?”

  “Sort of.”

  Frank sighed, doing his best to hold on to his patience. Getting angry now wouldn’t help one bit. “I see. So you did know Mandy then?”

  “Yes. She came to the parties. Gary used to bring her, but only when Con was going to be there.”

  Frank leant forward, his sandwich forgotten in his hand, pieces of lettuce falling to the carpet. “Con?”

  “Some guy who really fancied Mandy.”

  “So you all went to parties together. Okay. Did this Gary give her drugs there? Was that it?”

  Chantelle unexpectedly laughed and Frank cursed as the rest of his sandwich filling plonked onto the floor. He picked up the mess with a napkin and dropped it in the bin, then sat back down.

  “You don’t get it , do you?” Chantelle said when she had his attention again. “They weren’t just about drugs, these parties. They were about sex.”

  “But Mandy was—” Frank stopped, his mind unable to cope with the thought of Mandy having sex.

  “Look mister, the parties are set up for the old perverts who like shagging young schoolgirls. They pay well for the privilege. Very well, ‘cept we don’t get to see any of the money. Altaf and his mates get all of that. We get some stuff bought for us now and then. Mostly drugs and drink. Mandy was Con’s special girl. Nobody else was allowed to touch her. She was okay, he used to buy her expensive stuff.”

  Frank half stood and leant over the girl, hands clenched at his side, face deathly white.

  She shrank back onto the bed.

  “Are you trying to tell me that Mandy was selling her body for money and drugs?”

  Chantelle held up a hand, fending him off. “She didn’t have a lot of choice. None of us did.”

  Frank saw the fear in her eyes and backed away, lowering his voice. “Sorry. It’s just—”

  “If I tell you about it, you have to give me enough money so I can get away from them. I have some mates in Ireland. They’ll see me okay. But I need cash to get there.”

  Frank studied the girl closely. He didn’t, couldn’t, believe what she’d just told him. Nor was he sure that he wanted to know more.

  But finally, Frank nodded. “I’ll give you five thousand. Not a penny more,” he said.

  Chantelle moved to the end of the bed and sat opposite him, swinging her legs back and forth. He passed her the coffee and she sipped the warm liquid, taking a bite from the sandwich he gave her. For a moment, she looked so young and unguarded that he couldn’t believe the life she was leading.

  Finished her sandwich, she sat quietly and Frank wondered if she was having second thoughts - or was maybe trying to think up a better story.

  “So?” he prompted.

  “There’s this gang. Run by an Asian bloke called Altaf Chandio. They go out and find girls. Young girls, still at school. Preferably in care. They give them drugs and drink and buy them stuff. Clothes and trainers, stuff like that.” She laughed hollowly, as though remembering something from her own past. “Sometimes the girls think they’ve fallen in love with the guy.”

  “This Gary from Mandy’s school was part of this gang?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah, but on the sidelines. He took quite a few different girls along to the parties and introduced them to the gang.”

  “So these parties. The girls had sex there, with older men?”

  Chantelle looked at the floor, her empty cup hanging from one thin finger. “They were made to. Even if they didn’t want to.”

  “But why didn’t they tell someone what was happening? Go to the police or something. Surely they could have stopped this?”

  Chantelle gave Frank a withering look. “Altaf has a bodyguard. He’s big, with a nasty streak. He can hurt you without leaving any marks. It’s no good, they always find some way of keeping you quiet. Threaten your family, hurt you so you’re too frightened to say anything. And anyway, most of the girls are in care. Who’d believe someone in care? We’re just seen as a load of trouble.”

  Frank felt his world fall away and slumped back in the chair, running his hand over his thinning hair, hardly hearing Chantelle’s voice fade in and out as she described some of the things the girls were made to do.

  “And they did this to Mandy?” he whispered at one point. “Those bastards raped her? Christ, no wonder she killed herself!”

  Chantelle leant forward, grabbing his wrist. “But I don’t think she did kill herself. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  Frank looked into the girl’s eyes and saw the truth of her words there.

  “They killed her?”

  Chantelle nodded and wiped at her eyes with her fingers. “I think so. She wouldn’t always do as she was told. She was a bit wild, a bit of a rebel. She wanted money, a lot of it. She begun collecting evidence against them. Taking pictures of the guys who came to the parties, recording conversations on her mobile. Things like that. She even got me to take some pictures of her at a party once. When they were, you know—” Chantelle stopped for a moment, as though afraid that Frank might react badly to her words. After a short pause, she continued. “Mandy was determined to blackmail some of the old bastards. I think they must have found out what she was up to, because the night before she supposedly committed suicide, they had her locked up down in the basement. I could hear her screams from the front room. It was horrible. Later that night, Altaf came back with a computer. I think it was Mandy’s. He took out the hard-drive and destroyed it with a hammer.”

  Chantelle took a large gulp of air. The cup fell from her lifeless fingers with a clatter, making Frank jump. The tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now.

  “But Mandy was hit by a train. The driver said she jumped in front of it off the bridge,” Frank said.

  Chantelle just shrugged, refusing to look at him

  “So those pictures you showed me in the park,” he pressed. “Mandy took those?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Have you got any more? Some you took with Mandy in perhaps? I need proof if I’m going to the police with this.”

  At the mention of the police the girl’s head shot up and she half-rose.

  “Okay, take it easy Chantelle,” Frank said, pushing her back down on the bed.

  “I won’t tell the police anything,” she shouted, spittle flecking her chin. She wiped it with the back of her hand, her eyes alight with fear. “They’ll hurt me real bad if I do that. You promised me, you bastard. You said.”

  Her words turned into sobs and she collapsed in on herself, her arms wrapped around her waist.

  Frank went to her, pulling her into an embrace. “Hush, it’s okay. Quiet now. I’ll give you the money. It’s okay. Just tell me where the other photos are.”

  *

  It took Frank a long time to calm Chantelle enough to get all the details from her. He’d sat in silence, listening head bowed, as she told him how the gang had used Mandy and the other girls, and how Mandy had grown so desperate that she’d even cut herself, scarring her arms so she wouldn’t be so attractive. But it had made no difference in the end, she’d still been sold to anyone who’d pay for her, until Con had claimed her for his own that was.

  As he listened, Fra
nk felt tears on his face and an emptiness fill his stomach. Other girls - the ones from care homes - were moved around the country and kept locked away in houses like the one in London.

  Very few of the girls had reported the gang, they’d all been too terrified of what would happen to them if they did. And the courageous ones who’d tried, weren’t believed. So they took what little comfort they could from the drugs and presents they were given.

  In the end, Mandy had decided to try to blackmail them so she could get enough money to run away to Scotland and her dad. She’d begun collecting photos and recordings of the men who abused the girls, which she hid away in the base of the settee in the lounge. The girls were searched whenever they left the house, so she’d had no chance to get them out before she died.

  Frank had been surprised to learn that Mandy had been planning to come up to Scotland to see him, especially after the letter she’d written, but Chantelle explained that she thought his prison connections would keep her safe.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  Chantelle - herself from a care home - had survived by making herself useful to the gang; cooking and cleaning, and running messages back and forth for other members, like the boy, Gary. When she’d overheard Farris and Chandio talking about Frank, she’d grabbed at her chance with both hands and called him, using the number Mandy had given her before she’d disappeared.

  Frank was still at a loss as to why Mandy hadn’t told her mother what was happening, but had no other option than to take Chantelle’s explanation as fact. He asked her if she’d go back to the house and get the photos for him, but she refused outright, becoming so hysterical at the suggestion that he became worried that someone might overhear her cries and report him. He finally managed to calm her down and gave her the money he’d promised her, plus an extra five thousand.

  After Chantelle had gone, Frank had a long shower. As the water pounded on his back, he wondered yet again how anyone could put up with the treatment handed out by the gang and still come back for more. The thought of what the gang had done to his daughter turned his stomach and he ran to the toilet, where he threw up.

  After rinsing his mouth he made his way back to the bedroom and sat at the desk, rummaging around in the drawers until he found some paper and a pencil. He spent the next hour listing out his options. It was a technique he’d learnt in prison and had served him well over the years.

  But when it came down to it, his choices were short, very short. It all boiled down to just one option really. He’d have to break into the house and recover the evidence himself! Given that the girls involved were extremely unlikely to give evidence against the gang, the police would have little to go on if he went to them with no proof. Beside which, with his record, he wanted to stay as far away from the police as possible. If he had the photos and recordings he could send them in anonymously. That would be much safer.

  But first there was something far more important that he had to do. Frank picked up his mobile and tapped out a number, and as he waited for it to be answered, he balled up the list, tossing it at the bin. It missed and rolled under the bed.

  “Hello, it’s me,” he said into the mouthpiece.

  Chapter 22

  “Well where the hell is she then? Is it so hard to keep an eye on the goods? For Christ’s sake Marcos, I wouldn’t trust you to look after my cat. Get the hell out of here and find her. We’ve got a party to set up.”

  Marcos didn’t react to the insults his boss threw at him, he never did. Nodding, he turned towards the door to set about finding out what had happened to the girl.

  He soon discovered that Chantelle had been missing for most of the day, but nobody had thought to tell him, each assuming that someone else would. After thumping a few heads together, he learnt that one of the street dealers had seen the scrawny kid talking to some guy in the park earlier in the day.

  Alarm bells rang in his head - either she was trying to earn some extra cash on her own, or she was out buying drugs. Both actions could bring them a ton of trouble. Stupid bitch! He’d warned her about going off on her own before, hadn’t he?

  Marcos ambled back to the office to report his findings to Chandio, feeling sorry for the girl. He knew how sadistic his boss could be when somebody crossed him.

  But it was all her own stupid fault.

  *

  “Keep walking,” Marcos growled. He had Chantelle’s arm clutched in his massive fist. “No, don’t look back, just keep walking.”

  Chantelle screwed up her face at the pressure on her bicep and staggered along beside the big man, biting her lip at the pain.

  None of the girls congregated around the entrance of the care home gave them so much as a second glance as they passed by. One or two looked, but quickly went back to their cigarettes and chat, too used to seeing girls walk off with older men to care about what might be happening.

  “Where are you taking me?” she said. “And let go of my arm, you’re hurting me!”

  Opening the rear door of his BMW, Marcos threw her inside. She landed awkwardly and twisted her knee. Tears welled in her eyes and she flung herself at the door, but the childproof lock was engaged and she couldn’t get out.

  The big Greek got into the front seat,

  “Please Marcos,” she said in a small voice.

  He totally ignored her, so she settled back in the seat, watching the shops in the high street slide passed, wondering if Altaf had somehow found out she’d been talking to Mandy’s dad.

  “Marcos?” she said, leaning forward. The slap knocked her against the door and she gasped as the handle drove into her ribs.

  “Shut it!” Marcos snarled, taking a fast left at the next set of traffic lights.

  Chantelle could see they were headed back to the house. She bit her bottom lip, thankful that she’d already hidden the money away back at the care home. No matter what happened now, she still had the means to escape, and she would, the first chance she got.

  *

  Chantelle watched Marcos leave the basement with a sinking heart. She was naked, tied to an old fashioned office chair, her arms and legs taped to the wood. The big Greek might be rough and knock the girls around a bit, but he wasn’t as sadistic as the man who now stood in front of her.

  Altaf smiled down at her, his eyes lingering on the red bruise that had begun to show on the side of her face.

  “Chantelle,” he said in a flat voice.

  But she wasn’t fooled by his soft tones. She’d seen the results of his work when people didn’t give him the answers he wanted.

  “You and I need to have a little talk.”

  She whimpered, trying to free her arms.

  Altaf walked behind her and she strained her head around, trying to see what he was doing.

  It was somehow worse when she couldn’t.

  She felt him grab a handful of her hair and sucked in her breath, waiting for the punch to land. But instead, he whispered in her ear.

  “Tell me what you talked about with Mandy’s father.”

  Her heart beat faster. Shit, he knew! Somehow he’d found out.

  Altaf strengthened his grip and she squirmed upwards, trying to relieve the pressure. “He ... he wanted to know if Gary had given her drugs.”

  Altaf walked back around the chair and stood over her. He just stared at her for a moment, his eyes alive with emotion. Then he raised his eyebrows and stamped down hard on her toes.

  She screamed, her foot curling against the pain. He stamped again and she felt one of the fine bones in her foot break.

  “Chantelle,” he said in a level voice, the smile widening on his lips. “Please don’t take me for an idiot. He already knows what went on between Gary and Mandy. What did he want to know from you?”

  Chantelle sobbed, the pain in her foot a searing hot splinter twisting its way up her leg. If she told this man what she’d said to Mandy’s dad, she would be dead before she finished telling him. She needed another story and fast. One that he
’d believe.

  Chandio lifted his foot again. “Did he ask about this place?”

  She nodded, her head bobbing like a balloon on a windy day. “Yes ... he did. He wanted to know about the drugs ... where you got them ... who your clients were ... how much you made. He ... he promised me a lot of money if I got him the information.”

  “How were you going to contact him again?”

  “He gave me a mobile number. Said to ring him when I had the info he wanted and he’d meet me.”

  Chantelle watched through tear-filled eyes as Altaf thought this over, praying to God, telling him that if He just got her out of this one thing, she’d never, ever, take drugs again. She’d use the money she’d got to go to Ireland and live a good life.

  Honest God. Honest!

  Altaf turned and shouted for Marcos. The big Greek entered the room straight away. He’d obviously been waiting just outside.

  “What do you think?” Altaf asked him.

  Marcos shrugged and stared at Chantelle’s bloody foot. “Could be. He’s been in nick. Probably has contacts. Maybe he’s looking to start up on his own.”

  Altaf turned back to her. She cringed in the seat, trying to put distance between them, the tears streaming down her face.

  “Okay Marcos,” he said, turning towards the door. “Get the mobile number from her, then get her shipped up North somewhere.”

  Chantelle looked at the big Greek, pleading with her eyes. “Please Marcos. Don’t do this. Don’t let them send me up there.”

  His face softened a little, and for a moment, she thought he might be about to touch her cheek. Instead, he cut through her bindings and picked her up.

  “Let’s get that foot bandaged,” he muttered, carrying her towards the stairs as though she weighed no more than a rag doll.

  Chantelle sobbed into his shoulder, knowing that her life was about to change for the worst. Once they sent her up north, there’d be no escape, no coming back to retrieve up her payoff, no trip to Ireland - nothing but pain and abuse.

  “I think he broke it,” she sobbed.

  Chapter 23