‘Good. So here’s how it works. In a minute I’m going to tell you where to go. Don’t wait to finish your hot chocolate, smoke another fag, or generally fuck about in any way. Get in your car, now. Drive to within a hundred yards of the address. Not right outside, you’ll just get in the way and probably get nicked as a precautionary measure. Wait for the police to arrive. Let them batter their way into the house before you make your move. Once they’re in, get out of the car and walk… walk… to the house. Have your camera ready. And don’t run, it’ll make any firearms officers who’ve attended nervous. They’ll start bringing people out. Probably the bastards I’ve immobilised first. Take pictures, get faces. Two men in their thirties and a middle-aged woman. Once they have them away, they’ll start bringing the girls out.’

‘Girls?’

‘Girls. Teenagers, usually. Promised a good life in the west, with a job, working to pay off the people smugglers. Except that isn’t how it works. Ask the police, they’ll probably tell you. Get pictures. Tell them you’re photojournalists, and that you intend to follow the case.’

Mickey waited for a reaction.

‘The case…?’

‘It’s a training house. They bring the women there first. Before putting them to work. Teach them obedience. Show them what they’re expected to do. With all sorts of practical demonstrations. Do I need to spell it out?’

‘No.’

Her voice was suddenly quiet.

‘You wanted a scoop. You’re getting one. Remember the conditions.’

‘Never mention the name of the man who put us in touch with you.’

Mickey having told Tamara he’d get his mate to get in contact. Not knowing whether she was taken in by the ruse. And not caring much either.

‘And?’

‘Use pseudonyms to credit the story and the pics.’

‘Make sure you do. Make very sure. Because the man I’m hunting will be very interested in you. And you won’t enjoy the sort of attention he’ll pay you. Either you or your mate Mark. Got that?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK, 37 Walcott Road. Say it back to me so I know you’ve got it right.’

‘37 Walcott Road. Wait for the police to go in first, then approach calmly, camera ready. Stay calm, get pictures, tell them we’re journalists. Don’t credit actual names on the article or the pics.’

‘Good. Move.’

He cut the call and fished in his pocket for the micro-recorder. The one he’d had Martin speak into earlier. Dialled 999 and waited for the answer.

‘999, which service do you require?’

‘Police.’

Using the voice distortion app even for that single word.

‘Police, state your emergency.’

Mickey put the recorder to the phone. Triggered the recording and started walking back to the car.

23

‘What next? What’s he going to do next? Eh?’