Page 86

‘Are you out of your mind, Helen?’

It certainly felt that way, but there was no way she was going to let Christopher fob her off like that, so Helen pressed on:

‘I know it’s unorthodox, but there’s no other way.’

‘Unorthodox?’ Christopher stammered. ‘It’s illegal . I can’t possibly action a search without the proper paperwork. You don’t even have a warrant.’

Her ex-lover had looked shocked when she’d turned up un-announced at his office, then aghast when she’d made her request. It had been an impulsive decision to come here, but Helen felt in her bones that there was only one way to reveal who Harika Guli really was. She had to follow the money.

‘I’m convinced that this supposed charity worker is actually a human trafficker. God alone knows how many poor souls she’s smuggled into this country. They are being kept in the most inhuman conditions, forced to work for a pittance—’

‘I get all that,’ Christopher interrupted firmly. ‘And I believe you, Helen. But I can’t do anything unless the police or the NCA ask me to.’

‘That’ll take days, when we have hours at the most.’

Even as she said the words, Helen’s heart sank, horrified by the thought of the retribution Viyan would face at the hands of her cruel mistress.

She would be tortured, perhaps even killed like her poor friend Selima, which is why Helen knew she had to fight, despite lacking either the strength or energy to do so.

‘If you do it now, if you do it quickly, I can be out of here before anyone notices.’

‘I’m sorry, Helen, but it’s out of the question. It’s more than my job’s worth.’

‘It’ll take five minutes. I just need to know who pays the rent, the bills, for the Kurdish Welfare Centre on Roehampton Road. My hunch is that it’s actually a front company, set up purely to facilitate human trafficking.’

Christopher ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, staring at Helen as if she was speaking a foreign language. It was a look she was getting used to.

‘I don’t know what to say to you, Helen. I just can’t do it. I understand that you’re concerned about Viyan, but you know full well that I can’t do what you’re asking, so unless you’re here to make my life difficult for me, to punish me in some way—’

‘This isn’t about you, you prick,’ Helen interrupted. ‘It’s about saving lives. It’s about doing what’s right.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, but I’ve said all I’m going to on the matter. The answer’s no.’

Helen stared at him, exhaustion battling with her anger, her strength leeching from her and, with it, her resolve. It would be so easy to give up, to throw in the towel, but when had she ever done that?

‘Then you leave me no choice,’ she breathed, steadying herself on the corner of his desk. ‘Which is your boss’s office?’

‘I’m sorry?!’

‘I think he might be interested to know that you’ve been having an affair, sharing off-the-record stories and insider gossip with someone outside the department.’

‘For God’s sake, Helen,’ Christopher spluttered, the blood draining from his face.

‘Or maybe I should just contact Alice.’

Stepping forward, Helen picked up his wedding photo, running her eye over it.

‘Tell her who her husband really is. How does that sound?’

Her former lover was staring at her, his shock and anger rising by the second. It was clear he was about to explode, so Helen cut in:

‘Look, I can see you’re cross, but can we skip the misogynistic rant and just cut to the chase? I’m on a schedule here.’

She was glaring at him, daring Christopher to defy her. It was clear he would like nothing more than to rant and rave, but she also knew that he would prefer deception to disgrace. Which is why she wasn’t surprised when he crumpled, huffily collapsing into his chair and starting to type.

‘See, you can be a good boy when you want to be.’

Ignoring her, he worked fast and five minutes later, she had her answer.

‘You’re right,’ he said brusquely. ‘The general donations that the centre receives don’t remotely cover its costs. It only stays afloat because of regular payments from a Leyla Rashidi, a British national, born and raised in Southampton.’

Now he had Helen’s interest. Perhaps there was hope after all.

‘Where does she live?’

‘Her registered address is Dearham Farm, which is out near Swanwick. I think it’s some kind of waste disposal facility.’

Helen couldn’t suppress a smile as Christopher scribbled down the details, handing it to her. Finally, she’d found the camp where Viyan and the others were being held. Scanning the address, she walked swiftly to the door.

‘Helen, wait. Before you go …’

Helen paused, turning back to look at her flustered ex-lover.

‘When all this is over, can we talk? I want us to find a way through this …’

‘There is no “us”, Christopher. Turns out there never was.’

And with that, she left, shutting the door firmly behind her. All thoughts of Christoper’s betrayal, of her own suffering, would have to wait. Finally, she had a location. Finally, she knew where she was heading. The only question now was whether she would be too late.