‘And I’m your first port of call?’ Russell’s eyes narrowed.
‘I don’t think she’s local and it’s possible she’s a refugee or an asylum seeker as she’s not yet been reported missing. We thought you might recognise her as someone who’s been here and—’
‘I have to stop you there, Inspector.’ He held up his hand as if she was a lowly private under his command. ‘Let me explain. This centre houses desperate people escaping war in their own countries. Syria, Africa, Afghanistan. You name it. They come from many troubled lands. They stay here while their documents are being processed. During this transition period they have access to food and shelter until we find ways of dealing with their circumstances.’ He took a breath and exhaled. ‘I don’t want to appear disruptive to your investigation, but frankly I’m astonished that you have the audacity to suggest one of our inmates might be this murdered girl.’
Lottie let him rant, casting an eye towards Boyd. He raised a quizzical brow. Inmates?
‘Is this a prison?’ she asked.
‘No. It’s a direct provision centre. I thought I’d explained that. It’s a government initiative, run by my company.’
‘A private company?’ Lottie asked.
‘Woodlake Facilities Management. Look it up.’
Lottie bristled. ‘I only want to establish if you know who this victim is.’
‘I don’t know her. I’m sorry.’ He slid the photo back across the desk.
‘Can I ask around?’ Lottie chanced. ‘Someone might recognise her.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Russell said. He retrieved the photograph. ‘I’ll keep this and do the asking. If I discover anything, you will be contacted.’
‘Thank you. Another thing. Do you know anyone called Kaltrina?’
His eyes flickered slightly. ‘No. Should I?’
‘Just wondering.’
Doubting she would hear further from him, Lottie handed over her card anyway. Though it was sweltering despite an old fan, the room suddenly felt icy.
Russell stood. Lottie rose too.
Boyd remained seated, chewing the inside of his lip. ‘How about the name Mimoza? Ever hear that?’
Lottie kicked him, but it was too late. She caught the look darting like the tail of a fleeing rat across Russell’s face before he flashed his pearly-white teeth.
‘There are a lot of people residing here,’ he said. ‘My job is to oversee the facility. It’s a very busy place and I don’t have much direct contact with the inmates.’
That word again. And it was clear to Lottie that he had recognised the name Mimoza.
Before she could question him further, Russell continued, ‘They come from many countries but unfortunately most of them look alike to me, so I can’t say I know who you’re talking about. Sorry.’
‘Then we need to talk to someone who does know,’ Lottie said firmly.
‘No, Inspector.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘I will check on your behalf.’
Silently she admitted defeat. For the moment. She would try getting a list of names herself. They had to be logged on some database. Gesturing for Boyd to leave, she hurried down the wooden stairs behind him and out into the blistering sunlight.
* * *
Outside the gates, Lottie wondered why they hadn’t seen any evidence of people milling around the barracks.
‘It’s eerily quiet,’ she said. ‘Do you think everyone’s locked up in their rooms?’
‘I doubt it,’ Boyd said, ‘but Russell’s a tough nut.’
‘If any evidence turns up to suggest the dead girl was a resident, we’ll get a search warrant.’
They trekked across The Green, once a bustling market area for cattle and sheep, now a makeshift short cut into the town centre. Girding the grassy expanse were terraces of jaded 1950’s houses. Minuscule gardens fenced with rusted ironwork appeared neat but generally devoid of humanity. Too hot for the aged residents to venture outside. Lottie didn’t blame them.
‘I hope Russell’s in this mess right up to his shiny arse,’ she said.
They crossed the road at the edge of the green and headed across the canal footbridge.
‘Why?’
‘He calls the residents inmates. Does he think he’s a prison governor?’
‘He knew the name Mimoza – that much was obvious.’
‘Yes, Boyd, and I hope you haven’t caused difficulty for her if she is in there.’
‘If he knows her, why didn’t he admit it?’
‘There’s something he’s not telling us. I can feel it. ‘
Boyd leaned over the bridge and lit a cigarette. ‘You want one?’
‘I do, but I’ve quit.’
‘Again?’
‘Oh, shut up and light one for me.’
Lottie inhaled and stood on the bridge contemplating the cloudy green waters below. A man walked along the cherry-blossom tree-lined towpath with a husky pup on a long lead. He waved and she waved back.
‘Who’s that?’ asked Boyd.
‘I’ve no idea.’
They smoked their cigarettes in silence.
‘Why didn’t you ask Russell if he knew Adam?’ Boyd said eventually.
‘I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, the bastard.’ She took a long, hard drag on the cigarette. ‘I’m going to get Lynch to check Russell out.’
* * *
When he was sure the detectives were well away from the front gates, Dan Russell made a phone call.
Three minutes later, a man with crooked teeth was standing in his office.
Russell said, ‘Fatjon, I’ve had the local guards in. They’ve discovered a girl’s body. Has that got anything to do with you?’
‘I know nothing about a body.’
‘Good. Find out what that bitch Mimoza has been up to and make sure she keeps her big mouth shut.’
Fatjon said, ‘She left the compound yesterday morning. Bribed one of the guards with her cute little ass.’ He laughed. Russell glared.
‘Did you find her? Where did she go? Did she say anything to anyone?’
‘We found her and that girl she hangs round with strolling on the other side of town. I had a word with her. Threatened to take her boy away.’
‘I asked for a low-profile operation and what do I get?’ Russell stood up suddenly and paced the wooden floor of his office. ‘Fucking incompetent Arabs.’
‘They’re not Arabs.’
‘They’re fucking eejits, that’s what.’ Russell, his head an inch below the fan, continued his march.
‘Sir?’
‘Grill her again. One of the detectives mentioned her name. She’s done or said something. If she refuses to talk to you, send her to Anya. A few days with her legs around a pimple-backed, rutting Ragmullin pig might change her silent tune.’
‘Thought we were told to keep her for—’
‘Don’t question me!’ Russell ceased pacing and stood toe to toe with the crooked-toothed man. ‘I trust no one.’ He flared his nostrils. ‘Not even you.’
Fatjon kept his silence.
‘I want results,’ Russell said.
‘Yes, sir.’ Fatjon turned to leave.
‘Today.’
‘Sir? The boy? What will I do—’
Russell whirled round on his patent pointy-toed shoes. ‘I don’t give a flying fuck how you do it, but you better keep him quiet. And safe. That’s an order. Deal with it without any more dramatics.’