The Slowest Cut (13 page)

“Do you know what they were?”

“No, I’m sorry. But I might be able to describe them.”

It was more than Annette could have hoped for. They drank tea and talked for a while longer then she rose and shook two sets of hands, requesting that they come in to see a sketch artist the next day. Annette left by the small red front door, smiling to herself and knowing that she was one of the few people in Belfast that had ever been inside a real-life Aladdin’s Cave.

Chapter Fifteen

Mai watched as Gerry Warner left the police station, rubbing his eyes as he tried to adjust to the bright late-winter sun. He looked different, older, but then it had been ten years. There was something else about him as well. She racked her brains for a moment, searching for the right word. Then she found it; Warner looked scared.

She smiled her full-lipped smile, pleased that they were having that effect. Warner must know about the Carraghers by now, so he knew that she was coming for him next. Either him or Rooney, she hadn’t decided yet. It depended on her mood. The master or the pupil; decisions, decisions. So many men, so little time.

Mai watched for a moment longer as a taxi drove up and Gerry Warner clambered into the back seat, glancing anxiously around. Run away, old man. For now. You won’t be running anywhere very soon.

***

John knew that Natalie was wondering why he’d phoned her at work, but she seemed preoccupied so he crossed his fingers that she wouldn’t catch onto what it was really about.

“I’ve been given a complimentary dinner tonight at The Merchant Hotel. Will you come with me, Nat?”

Natalie glanced down distractedly at her theatre Crocs while she waited for her next patient to be prepped for operation. The Crocs were pink, with small cartoon figures dancing across the toes. Mickey Mouse was starting to look grubby; time for a new pair.

“Is this some drug company trying to keep you sweet, John?”

“God, no. You know I’m not into that sort of thing. It’s for a paper I wrote. There was a prize for the best.”

“Good for you, pet. I’m sure you deserved it.”

She paused for so long that John thought that perhaps she’d caught on. He was just kicking himself for not inventing a better cover when Natalie acquiesced.

“OK then. But let’s not make it late one. I’m on call again tomorrow night. I’ll have finished by five tonight, so how about seven o’clock?”

John punched the air and struggled to keep his voice calm. Seven was perfect. It would give him time to run home and change and then prime the restaurant’s Maître D. When John’s voice hit the air it sounded much less cool than he wanted, so he coughed to cover its excited pitch.

“Fine. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

Natalie dragged her eyes away from her feet and squinted suspiciously at the phone. Pick her up? John knew she liked to get there under her own steam, so why was he going all ’50s prom date on her?

“I’ll meet you there.” She paused before continuing. “Are you all right, John? You sound a bit strange.”

“Who, me? What? No. I’m fine. Just mega busy at work.”

He knew from the wariness in Natalie’s voice that he’d almost pushed it too far, so John feigned nonchalance until she got off the phone. Then he pocketed his mobile and scanned the dissecting room. Only the Carraghers’ dead bodies were there and they were covered in sheets; they couldn’t laugh at him through dead eyes. He was so far gone he didn’t even think of the lack of logic his thoughts implied.

John walked into the hallway, let out an excited whoop and did the victory dance for five full minutes, then he straightened his tie, composed himself and went back to being a grown-up for two more hours.

***

3.30 p.m.

“Right, everyone. This is going to be short and focused. We’ve a lot to get through and I’m starting to get grief from Headquarters.”

Liam slurped his tea then shoved another biscuit into his mouth and started talking, much to Annette’s disgust. “Aye, well. They probably want us to solve these two before they kill another one.”

Craig nodded. “To paraphrase the Chief Constable’s words... OK. I’m going to bring you up to speed on our excursion earlier today. Then Annette on the knife, and Liam, Jake and Davy on whatever else you’ve managed to find.”

He sipped at his coffee and sat back, recounting how they’d gone to the mansion on the Newtownards Road and outlining the details of the arrests. Craig watched Jake’s eyes widen as he described the outfits worn by some of the party goers, but let it pass. They didn’t have time for a ten minute fashion discourse from Liam, no matter how funny it was likely to be.

“OK, that brings me to the girl. They found her hiding under the stairs during the raid and D.C.I. Hughes put her in an upstairs room with a female officer.”

Annette cut in. “When you say girl, sir, do you mean eighteen or so?”

Craig shook his head sadly. “Unfortunately not, Annette. I mean little girl. She’s eleven.”

An uncomfortable murmur ran through the circle and Craig raised his hand to still them.

“You’ll all get a chance to comment, but for now please just let me report.”

He carried on. “OK. She’d been beaten and God knows what else. Uniform’s taken her to the children’s hospital for examination. It’s disgusting that a child should have been at the party and there’ll be plenty more to say on that, but there’s an added complication.”

Liam nodded knowingly. “She’s French.”

Craig raised his eyes. “Remind me never to tell a joke in front of you, Liam. Yes, as Liam said, she’s French. Native French-speaking with only pigeon English. All I’ve managed to glean from her is that her name is Aurelie, she’s eleven-years-old, from France and she doesn’t know where her mother is.”

“Didn’t they get a translator at the station, boss?”

“No. We never got there. She felt faint in the car so we headed straight for the hospital instead. But I’m pretty fluent and they had a French nurse who also tried to get through to her. They were talking for quite a while, but the girl only said what she’d already told me. She doesn’t know where her mother is or how long she’s been in Northern Ireland. Just that she comes from France. She doesn’t seem to know which part, but she’s pretty shocked at the moment so she may tell us more in a few days.”

Annette shook her head. “Not necessarily, sir. It depends how traumatised she’s been. And the doctors won’t let you interview her again until they’re certain that it won’t harm her.”

Annette was right. They would just have to do their best with what they had.

“OK. One thing we did find in her possession was a cotton handkerchief with a small logo embroidered on it.” He turned towards Liam and Davy. “Any joy on that yet?”

Davy raked his hair. “Yes and no, boss. Yes, I can identify the logo. It’s French. The symbol of a posh preparatory school in the Loire Valley. I sent the girl’s photo over to them and to the French police, but the school’s come back with a ‘non’. I even tried with the name Aurelie, but they have about twenty girls called that in every year. W…We’ve nothing from the Gendarmes yet.”

Craig had a thought. “What age range does the school teach, Davy?”

“Six to twelve-year’s old. W…Why?”

“You know that computer software that Des has? The one that shows what people look like as they age?

Davy nodded hesitantly. He couldn’t see the relevance.

“Can it be reversed? Can they take a picture of someone now and see what they were likely to have looked like years ago?”

Davy screwed up his face in thought for a moment then his expression brightened and he started to babble excitedly.

“If I put in the parameters …”

Craig raised a hand and smiled. “Before you bury us in tech-speak. Yes or no?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so. I need to s…speak to Des.”

“Great. After we finish here, please. He’ll need a good full-face shot of the girl, so you’ll need to get the hospital’s cooperation on that.”

Liam cut in. “Could someone tell me what’s happening here? Are you saying that the girl might have gone to this posh school but they don’t recognise her because she left a few years back?”

Craig nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Liam. The hanky was old and worn.”

Davy jumped in eagerly. “The s…school said the girls are given them in their first year.”

“If she was given the hanky when she was six years old that would explain why it’s worn. We’re lucky she kept it. The school might not recognise her because she left there years ago. Either to move on to another school.” Craig’s face darkened. “Or for some other reason.”

“You mean she was kidnapped, sir.”

Craig nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking, Jake. If she was taken some years back then they wouldn’t recognise her picture now. Children change a lot in a few years. We need to find out who she is and this is our best lead.”

Liam nodded slowly. “OK. Let’s say we find out who she is, and we find her parents and they’re normal people who want her back. Happy ending all round, but it still doesn’t explain what the hell she was doing in a house in Belfast, beaten black and blue.”

Craig sighed heavily. “Liam’s right. This is complex. The likeliest scenario is that she was taken some years back, which is why she can’t remember her surname or where her mother is. Then she was brought to Ireland by someone and used for God only knows what. That party won’t have been the first.”

A pall fell over the group. Craig let them mourn the girl’s innocence for a moment then pulled them back to the case.

“OK. Let’s go back to the Carraghers. What else do we know?”

“Not much, boss. Their bank accounts are clean. The place down in Newcastle was bought with an inheritance from Mrs Carragher’s mother.”

“We must have enough for a search warrant now. Liam. Get one and take Jake down with you tomorrow morning, please. Pull the place apart. I want their townhouse searched as well.”

From the side of his eye Craig could see Annette’s eyes widen. She was surprised at him sending Jake with Liam. Craig caught her gaze and held it. He’d done it deliberately. She and Jake had been paired too often recently and it was starting to feel like Annette thought Jake was hers to command. Annette had great people sense, but Liam’s nose for the street was second to none and Jake needed equal exposure to them both.

Craig broke her gaze and turned his eyes front again. Liam was asking a question.

He shook his head. “Sorry, Liam. I missed that.”

“I said what do you want us to look for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it, but bring any computers and papers you find back for Davy to search.” He turned to see Davy scribbling on a pad and smiled, knowing he was already writing a de-aging programme.

“Davy. Annette will get a warrant for the Carragher’s home and work computers. Is there anything else you need?”

Davy thought for a moment. “I s…should be able to access their e-mail accounts and anything they’ve put on the Cloud from their computers, but is anyone looking at their phones? They must have several between them.”

He was right. It was a rookie’s omission.

Craig nodded. “Davy’s right. That’s my fault. We should have accessed those on day one.”

“Don’t go blaming yourself just yet, boss. Remember, on the face of it Eileen Carragher was an innocent victim. We’d no grounds to go poking through her stuff, and the husband would never have given us permission.”

Liam was right as well. It was only now that they could legitimately get a warrant; two deaths and several sordid social lives in.

“Thanks, Liam. OK then, let’s get both houses and their offices searched. Phones, computers and papers back here for Davy to do his thing.” He remembered something. “Liam, did Aidan recognise the Chinese woman’s description from the BDSM scene?”

Liam’s face dropped. With all the confusion at the house party he’d forgotten. “I’ll get on to that now.”

Craig smiled. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll nip down after the briefing.” He turned towards Annette. She’d recovered from her momentary possessiveness and had her notepad out, ready to report. “Any joy on the knife, Annette?”

Annette thought back to her visit to the small shop and smiled. It had been surreal.

“Yes and no, again. Yes, they stock it, and they’re the only place in Northern Ireland that does. That’s always supposing that it was definitely bought here. There are four shops in the Republic that sell them as well.”

“We’ll look at those if we hit a dead end.”

“That’s what I thought. Anyway, they’ve sold five of them in the past year. Three to a restaurant in town that specialises in steak dishes.” Davy made a face and she nodded. “I know, that’s what I thought. Too close to home. The other two were sold to a young man. He paid in cash and gave a false name; a member of a boy-band.”

Craig smiled ruefully. “When was that?”

“Early January.”

“Chinese?”

“The shopkeeper wasn’t sure. The man wore dark glasses the whole time. He did say he didn’t sound foreign, as he so delicately put it.”

“He wouldn’t if he’d grown up here. Did he have a local accent?”

“He did mention local, but he couldn’t be any more specific than that.”

Liam interjected. “That’ll be a yes then.”

Jake cut in. “If he’s Chinese but Northern Irish by birth then there would be no way of telling his ethnicity except by seeing his whole face.”

“Which might well be why he was wearing sunglasses in the middle of January? OK. It’s a definite maybe. Annette, did you see one of the knives?”

“I did even better than that. I bought one!”

As she said it Annette reached into her handbag and drew out a brand-new serrated cleaver, waving it around. Liam sat as far back in his chair as he could.

“Watch that thing, girl.”

She brandished it playfully at him. “I’m going to get my own back on you, Liam.”

Liam stood up and backed away. “I remember when you let a gun slip out of your hand at the firing range, McElroy. Don’t be doing the same with that thing.”

Craig smiled at the floor-show, wondering what Joe Public would make of it if they walked in now. “OK, at the risk of sounding like everyone’s Dad, put it down, Annette. Actually, hand it to me. I’ll give it to John to match.”

Annette grinned and passed the cleaver over, then turned back to her notes. As he listened Craig perused the blade from all angles. The main shank was sparkling stainless-steel, two or three millimetres thick, but the blade’s cutting edge was as thin as a sheet of paper, rucked with regular serrations that made it sparkle like ice. It looked lethal and he didn’t want to think about how being cut with it must feel. Annette was still talking.