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‘I’m afraid I’ve got bad news to share with you all …’

Charlie took in the concerned faces of her team, trying to summon the courage to continue.

She’d spent a sleepless night replaying her fractious exchange with Helen, only to be disturbed early by a phone call from the hospital.

She had neither the energy nor the strength to lead her unsettled team this morning, but there was no getting around it, so taking a breath, she continued:

‘Our suspect died in the early hours of this morning. The surgeons at Southants did everything they could, but in the end his injuries were too severe.’

Blank shock on the faces of her colleagues as they digested this development, many of them looking ashen.

The only saving grace was that DC Shona Williams was not present, having heeded Charlie’s advice to take a few days off to process yesterday’s shock, but in truth this was scant consolation.

The news would soon filter back to her, dragging Charlie into an emotional maelstrom she wasn’t sure she had the energy to handle, but her immediate task was to keep the rest of the team on board, as their faltering investigation hit the buffers once more.

‘The only good news,’ she continued, trying her best to inject some optimism into her voice, ‘is that we now have a name. Our suspect is … was Clint Davies, a stevedore at Southampton docks.’

Charlie pinned a photo of Davies on the board, alongside a brief rap sheet.

‘Prior to that he had a number of different jobs and a handful of minor convictions – theft, handling stolen goods, possession of Cat C drugs. All fairly low-level. The deal Clint concluded yesterday is one of a long line of similar transactions he’s made over the years.

His partner in crime, Graeme O’Neil, is currently in custody and though I’ve only spoken to him briefly, he’s confirmed that the pair met up every few months, to exchange cash for electrical goods. ’

‘And that was Davies’ way of laundering the cash he received from our trafficker?’ DC Malik offered, trying her best to be constructive.

‘Looks like it,’ Charlie replied purposefully, nodding her heartfelt thanks to her colleague. ‘O’Neil has given up the dates of their last few deals and get this – they all took place shortly after the hoax phone calls Clint Davies made to Border Force.’

‘So we’re thinking that Davies makes the hoax calls, gets paid off, then contacts O’Neil to rinse the cash?’ DC Rayson enquired, intrigued.

‘Exactly. The phone Davies used to contact O’Neil was the same phone which he used to contact Border Force. Sloppy by him, helpful for us.’

Charlie was pleased to see a few heads nod, as DC Roberts took up the baton:

‘So that suggests Davies is a regular contact of our traffickers. That he’s used by them to throw us off the scent, to divert our attention to innocent hauliers, whilst they bring their illegal cargo in.’

‘Exactly. Which is why I think the hoax phone calls might be the key to identifying our trafficking gang,’ Charlie added. ‘We’re all agreed that our trafficker used Clint Davies’ calls to draw our attention away from the real action, right?’

The assembled team nodded, which cheered Charlie a little.

‘Are we also agreed that this suggests the real trafficker would aim to slip through customs around the same time, whilst the authorities were preoccupied investigating their fake lead?’

‘Probably on the same day,’ DC Malik agreed. ‘And preferably as close to the fake bust as possible. They can’t assume we’d just up sticks and leave after one false start, so better to drive the real “cargo” through whilst we were actively involved in another search elsewhere.’

‘Do you want me to pull up the details of the other European cargo trucks that came through from Rotterdam on the same day as Peeters?’ DC Roberts asked perceptively, hurrying to his desk to retrieve his laptop.

‘Yes, but we’ll need to cross reference them with the trucks that arrived on the other days that Clint Davies made hoax calls to Border Force. If we can pick out a specific truck that came through on those three specific days, then we might have something to work with.’

Some of Charlie’s colleagues looked buoyed up by this possibility, but DC Roberts looked troubled.

‘Sounds feasible,’ he replied cautiously. ‘But I should warn you that it might be a lot of vehicles. You wouldn’t believe the amount of cargo that passes through the port every day.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ Charlie replied testily. ‘I’ve worked in Southampton a long time, DC Roberts.’

‘Of course, sorry,’ the junior officer replied quickly. ‘I was just …’

DC Roberts petered out, applying himself to the task.

He typed swiftly and purposefully, punching in locations, dates and times, before triumphantly hitting return.

There was a brief pause, as the screen buffered, then the page seemed to come alive, a long list of registration numbers springing up in front of them.

Shocked, Charlie moved in closer, watching on aghast as the list kept growing, dozens of vehicles piling one on top of the other.

‘Are you sure you’ve entered the right search parameters? I only want cargo vehicles that entered Southampton from Rotterdam on those three specific days?’

‘That’s them. I did say that it mi—’

He declined to finish his sentence, clocking the darkening expression on Charlie’s face.

She’d been hoping for a breakthrough, revealing the human trafficker by a simple process of elimination.

But the list of vehicles numbered north of fifty trucks, possibly as many as a hundred.

Would they have to track them all down? Interrogate a hundred hauliers?

On the face of it, there seemed little else they could do, and DC Roberts’ pained expression said it all.

It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.