Dead Tomorrow

His name.’
    ‘Vlad, what?’
    ‘Coz, er Cozma, Cozemec?’
    ‘Cosmescu?’ Bella suggested.
    The girl was silent forsome moments, looking at her with scared eyes. Then she nodded.
    Twenty minutes later, after having interviewed both girls, they got back into the car.
    Bella said, ‘Do you mind telling me what that was all about?’
    ‘I checked with the UKHTC.’
    ‘The what?’
    ‘The United Kingdom Human Trafficking Centre. I wanted to establish where the girls were most likely to have come from. Romania was high on the list. And Romania was our brief.’
    ‘So you learned fluent Romanian in an afternoon?’
    ‘No, just the phrases I thought I might need.’
    Bella grinned. ‘I’m impressed.’
    ‘Not as impressed as my wife will be–not–when she finds out where I spent my afternoon.’
    ‘Don’t all men visit brothels?’ she said.
    ‘No,’ he said, fervently and indignantly. ‘Actually, no.’
    ‘You’ve really never been to one before?’
    ‘No, Bella,’ he said snarkily. ‘I really haven’t. Sorry to disappoint you.’
    ‘I’m not disappointed. It’s good to know there are some decent guys out there. I just don’t seem to be able to find one.’
    ‘Maybe that’s because my wife found the only one!’ he said.
    Bella looked at him, at his thin, elongated, grinning face in the glare of the street light. ‘Then she’s a lucky woman.’
    ‘I’m the lucky one. What about you? You’re an attractive lady. You must have tons of opportunities.’
    ‘No, I’ve hadtons of disappointments. And you know what? I’m actually content being on my own. I look after my mum, and when I’m not looking after her, I’m free. I like that feeling.’
    ‘I love my kid,’ he said. ‘It’s an incredible feeling. You can’t describe it.’
    ‘I should think you’ll be a great father, Nick.’
    He smiled again. ‘I would like to be.’ Then he shrugged. ‘Can you imagine what kind of father Anca had? Or the other girl, Nusha?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘For life for them in a crummy Brighton brothel to be better than whatever they left behind, I find that incredible.’
    ‘I find it incredible that you bothered to learn their language, Nick. I’m blown away by that.’
    ‘I didn’t learn their language. Just a few phrases. Enough so that we could get through to them.’
    She looked down at her notes. ‘Vlad Cosmescu.’
    ‘Vlad the Impaler.’
    ‘Vlad who?’
    ‘He was the Transylvanian emperor that Dracula was based on. A charmer who used to impale his enemies on a spike up their rectums.’
    ‘Too much information, Nick,’ she said, wincing.
    ‘You’re a police officer, Bella. We can never have too much information.’
    She smiled, then said, ‘Vlad Cosmescu.’
    ‘Do you know him?’
    ‘By name. He’s a pimp. Was active a few years ago when I was on brothels. He’s a kind of gatekeeper for Romanian, Albanian and other eastern European contraband. Drugs, pirated videos, cigarettes, you name it. He’s been a Person of Interest for the drugs teams for years, but I heard he always managed to keep out of trouble himself. Interesting that he’s still around.’ She made a note on her pad, then said breezily, ‘Right! One down. There are only about twenty-eight more brothels in Brighton to cover before we’re done. How’s your stamina?’
    With a baby needingfeeding every few hours, around the clock, probably a lot better than my libido at this point , he thought.
    ‘My stamina? Terrific!’

71
    It was just gone sevenin Bucharest and Ian Tilling had promised Cristina that he would be home early tonight. It was their tenth wedding anniversary and for a rare treat they had booked a table at their favourite restaurant, for a feast of traditional Romanian food.
    He had developed a liking for the heavy, meat-based diet of his adopted country. All except for two specialities, cold brain and cubes of lard, which Cristina loved, but he still could not stomach, and doubted he ever would.
    He looked up at the useless clock hooked to the huge noticeboard on the wall in front of his desk. TIME IS MONEY was printed on the face, but there were no numerals, making it easy to be an hour out either way. Pinned next to it was a splayed-out woman’s fan, which had been there for so long he couldn’t remember who had put it up, or why. Below it, sandwiched between several government pamphlets for the homeless, was a sheet of paper bearing his favourite quotation, from Mahatma Gandhi: First they