The Slowest Cut (14 page)

“Anyway. The man who bought them paid in cash.”

“Typical. Millions of credit cards in the world and he couldn’t even use one of them.”

“But the shopkeeper remembered something that might help, sir.”

Craig roused himself from the blade’s hypnotic effect. “What?”

“He said the man put the knives in a PVC hold-all with unusual markings.”

“What kind of unusual?”

“A red and gold pattern. I’m putting him in front of a sketch artist tomorrow.”

“Good. That’s helpful.” Craig leaned forward, preparing to sum up.

Annette looked put-out. “I hadn’t finished, sir.”

Craig raised a hand in apology. “Sorry. Carry on.”

“The shopkeeper said that the man was young. Not a kid but definitely under thirty, he would swear to that. He said his clothes were modern and he had ‘stuff’ in his hair that made it stand up. His nephew said it was probably gel or wax.”

Annette stopped again and Craig waited to see if she’d reached an end. She had.

“Good, thanks Annette. When the shopkeeper comes in, get him to do a sketch of the man as well, please. He might be able to remember his mouth, nose or other things.”

Craig stretched and yawned, then locked his hands behind his head. “OK. This is looking more like a young couple; male and female, with the female Chinese. We’ll ask Aidan what he knows about her when we go downstairs, but there’s plenty to get on with meantime. Liam and Jake, organise warrants for the searches of the homes and offices, and go to Newcastle tomorrow and see what’s what. Annette, while they’re away would you mind supervising the search of the Carragher’s house here with Uniform, and get your witness in front of a sketch artist?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks. Davy, start with the phone dumps until you get the computers. Anything you can find will be useful, but particularly if and how often the Carraghers were in contact with Warner and Rooney. And see if you can find any calls from the Carraghers to their Newcastle house; they shouldn’t be calling it at all unless someone else is living there as well. And check any calls to the organiser of the house party. Aidan can give you his details.”

Jake interrupted. “Is this to build up a picture, sir?”

“Yes, mainly. But you never know when a little gem might appear. Unfortunately there’s still a lot of leg work to do, but we’re getting closer.”

Liam’s voice boomed across the room. “If we know we’re getting closer you can bet that the killers do too, boss.”

Craig paused. Liam was right. Their killers must know that time was running out for them. That could be good or bad. It might make them careless enough to make a mistake and get caught, or it could make them kill more quickly to get to the end of their list, if there was one. His money was on the second option.

“You’re right, Liam. That’s why Warner and Rooney need to be watched. Get patrols to drive by their houses and repeat the offer of protection.”

“You can take a horse to water, but…”

Liam was right again. For men with Warner and Rooney’s proclivities, being watched would definitely cramp their style. The team could offer them protection until they were blue in the face but they couldn’t make them accept.

***

Gerry Warner towelled himself dry and then walked into the bedroom of his three-bedroomed terrace house. It was sparsely furnished, the dry beige colour scheme broken only occasionally by an exotic souvenir from one of his overseas holidays. He crossed the room to pick up a carved teak elephant and stared at it, trying to recall exactly when it had been bought.

It had been on one of his trips to Thailand but he couldn’t remember which one; there had been so many. Once a year when he was married, then more and more after his divorce, until he’d travelled nearly every month. To Thailand and Cambodia, then across the world to Mexico and Brazil. Countries where he could do the things he wanted to, barely censured, and buy anything that his heart desired.

Each time he’d travelled he’d thought that the trip would be his last and he would finally settle into a ‘normal’ life. He shook his head. He’d never managed it, always searching for something to satisfy him but never complete. He’d envied his colleagues with their dogs and marriages and rounds of golf. BDSM had given him the closest thing to peace he’d ever known and now even that was going to take its revenge.

Warner shrugged and combed his thinning hair. He was going to die like Eileen Carragher had; it was only a question of when. He glanced at the door leading off his bedroom that everyone thought was an ensuite then he lifted the key from the dresser and turned it over slowly in his hand. After a moment’s thought Warner slipped off his dressing gown and walked naked into the room. If he was going to die he might as well enjoy himself while he could.

***

“Chinese, you say?”

Craig nodded and Liam wandered absentmindedly around Aidan Hughes’ office, pausing by the right-hand wall. It held shelf after shelf of videos and DVDs. He hadn’t noticed them when he’d been there before. They were neatly arranged and colour-coded according to some unknown key. Hughes saw him staring and twisted his mouth in a smile.

“Wondering what they are, Liam?”

Liam tossed up between admitting that he was interested, or feigning ‘I don’t know what you mean’. Curiosity won and he plumped for the first.

“Is it your Sci-Fi collection then?”

Hughes shook his head grimly. “I wish to God it was.”

He walked to a shelf and pulled down a laminated sheet, handing it to Liam without a word. Liam’s eyebrows shot up and he turned even paler than he normally was. He glanced at Craig to see if he already knew.

“I’ve seen Aidan’s list before, Liam. It’s grim reading.”

It certainly was. The sheet held a column of coloured blocks and against each was one word. Bestiality, Torture, Snuff... Liam’s jaw dropped further as he moved down the page. Finally he placed the sheet on the desk, turning it over and pushing it away. Hughes watched, knowing what was going through Liam’s mind.

“Don’t worry. I’m not a pervert. Just thank God you work in the Murder Squad.” He waved his hand at the wall of porn. “These are videos lifted from suspects. We had to view them all for evidence then catalogue them from the mildest to the hardest core. These are all SAP category five; the worst you can find. I sub-categorised them according to genre.”

Liam found his voice. It was quieter than it usually was. “Why keep them here? Shouldn’t they be in evidence?”

Hughes shook his head. “They’re copies and mostly old cases; most of the perps are banged away or impossible to find. I keep these for the Squad’s new recruits. They have to watch them during their first year. It makes them un-shockable.”

Liam mimicked being sick. “Remind me never to transfer to Vice.”

Craig interrupted. “I spent some time in Vice in London. It’s hard going.”

Hughes shrugged. “Someone has to catch the weirdoes. For all the crap we have to see and listen to, I can’t tell you how good it feels to lock one of them up and throw away the key.” He returned to Craig’s original question. “What sort of Chinese, Marc? Man or woman? Kid? And what are you looking for them in connection with?”

“The case Liam asked you about the other day. The one he showed you pictures from.”

“Warner and the woman I recognised from the BDSM scene?”

“Yes. We think a Chinese woman, young probably, but we don’t know her age, might be connected to the murders somehow. Warner reacted pretty strongly when I mentioned her. We need to know if she’s on the BDSM scene now, or ever has been.”

Hughes rubbed his chin thoughtfully. After a minute he moved to the video collection and pulled down a tape marked with a green key. Craig checked the laminate sheet. Green meant torture. Hughes slipped the tape into the machine and waited for it to start. As it flickered into life he hit pause.

“Listen. This is grim, I warn you.” He glanced at Liam, remembering his reaction from a few days before. “Do you want to leave, Liam?”

Liam struggled with his macho-ness for a moment until Craig took him off the hook. “Aidan, does this have children in it?”

Hughes nodded and Craig looked at Liam kindly. “Liam, this isn’t the time to tough it out. You have small children; you don’t need to watch this. Disappear and come back in five.”

Liam grabbed at the ‘out’ like a drowning man and was through the door before Craig could say another word. Craig turned back to the screen and nodded. They watched in silence for a moment, with the sound down initially and then Hughes jacked it up. What Craig saw and heard brought tears to his eyes, and after two minutes Hughes pressed ‘stop’.

Neither man spoke, the only sound in the room the straining of the video tape attempting to restart. Finally, Craig broke the silence in a tight voice, indicating the screen. “How old was the girl, Aidan?”

“We’re not sure. The tape was found doing the rounds in 2008, but it was pretty degraded so it had probably been taken years before. We estimate she was about six when it was shot.”

“Do you have any idea who she is?”

Hughes shook his head. “Was, more likely. No child could survive that level of torture for long.”

Craig stood up and paced the room, trying to erase the girl’s screams. He was grateful that Liam hadn’t heard them. Hughes was still talking.

“The tape was almost certainly made in Northern Ireland; those accents were local. And she’s the only Chinese girl I’ve ever seen on a local tape, that’s why she came to mind. There’s been no adult Chinese woman on the BDSM scene that I know of, not in my time anyway, and I’ve been in Vice since 2009. ”

“Who was the boy?”

The memories of the girl screaming were forced into second place by the image of the underage boy who’d wielded the whip that hit her. The boy had hit her again and again, encouraged by a man out of shot. A man whose voice jogged something at the back of Craig’s mind. The boy had cried and said sorry to the Chinese girl each time the lash struck her. Both children pawns of some warped bastard whose face they couldn’t see.

Hughes shook his head. “No idea. He’s probably dead as well.” He stared at Craig solemnly. “The children, and a lot of the adults in these videos, don’t survive. The bastards view them as playthings to arouse themselves with. Once they’ve served their purpose they get rid of them and get a new toy.”

Craig could feel tears pricking his eyes again. “I admire you, Aidan. I couldn’t do this without wanting to kill someone.”

Hughes laughed. “Who says we don’t.”

Just then Liam’s large shadow appeared at the door and Hughes beckoned him in. Craig summarised the tape for Liam, leaving the worst details out. Liam winced, then he snapped his fingers as if he’d had an idea.

“Could we get screen shots of the kids’ faces, Aidan?”

Hughes squinted at him for a moment, puzzled. “The boy had his back to the camera, but the girl, yes.”

Liam turned to Craig. “What if we got Davy to age her for us, to see what she would look like nowadays?”

Craig smiled admiringly. Liam’s time-out had done him good.

“Brilliant idea. OK, you organise that. It’s a long shot but who knows what we might find.”

Craig stood up to go and Hughes started talking again. “I’ll put the feelers out to see if anyone’s heard anything about a Chinese woman.”

“Could you dig into the Carraghers a bit more for me too, Aidan? Gerry Warner and a younger man called Alan Rooney as well. They’re all linked to our case.”

“Which is…?”

Craig smiled. “Which is a nasty double murder, but I can’t give you any more detail yet. Sorry.”

Hughes shrugged; secrets were part of the job and they all had their own. Craig and Liam walked back up to the tenth floor. Liam formulating photo-arrays in his head and Craig wishing that his head contained anything but the video he’d just seen.

Chapter Sixteen

5.30 p.m.

“We need to meet.”

Alan Rooney glared at his mobile, resenting the other man’s tone.

“I don’t need to do anything, Warner.”

“For God’s sake put your ego to one side, and meet me. The Carraghers are dead.”

“What! I know about Eileen, but there’s been nothing about a man being killed on the news.”

“They’re keeping it quiet, but I could read between the lines. They offered me protection, said I was at risk.”

Rooney sneered. “Me too, but that doesn’t mean Ian’s dead.”

“It does. They didn’t offer us protection after Eileen’s death, so something else has hit the fan since then. I’ve tried Ian’s mobile and work and there’s no answer. Something must have happened to him. Ryan hasn’t seen him either. I rang him and asked.”

“I didn’t know that you two were friends.” Rooney’s voice held the hint of a smile.

Warner’s was much cooler. “We aren’t, but Ian’s his father. He should know where he is.”

“So what if Ian’s dead? That doesn’t mean we’re next on the list. There probably isn’t a list.”

“Do you want to take that chance?”

Rooney thought for a moment then gave a shrug. “OK, we’ll meet. But I’m warning you now; if there is a list it’s every man for himself.”

***

6 p.m.

John straightened his tie and glanced in the mirror. Not bad, in a preppy, nerdy sort of way. But women liked nerdy men nowadays. You only had to look at the Top 100 list of men they thought were ‘hot’ to see that. John adjusted his black-wire glasses and stared at himself again. What did he care who women liked nowadays? He was only interested in one woman; the best one that he’d ever met.

He walked to the table and gazed down at the flowers he’d ordered, knowing that they were over the top. He didn’t care. Tonight he was going to woo his girl in the way she deserved and he desperately hoped that she wanted to be wooed. John grabbed the bouquet and his car keys and headed out the door. He wanted to get to the hotel early to check that everything was prepared. After all, he didn’t propose every night and he only planned on doing it once.

***

Craig knocked the top off a bottle of beer and drained it in three gulps, then he opened another one desperately, hoping that he could get drunk enough to shut out the girl’s screams. Three bottles later he was nowhere near drunk but the screams had gone. What was in their place was the boy from the tape.

He’d been Caucasian, about ten-years-old. Pale and thin and naked, except for a grubby little vest. They’d caught a glimpse of his profile once, when he’d turned towards the man’s voice, begging to be allowed to stop. The boy’s words had been thick with tears and his eyes rubbed raw, as if he’d been crying for a week. But the voice had been relentless.

“Do as I tell you. Hit her again.”

He’d said it over and over, threatening to kill the boy’s family if he didn’t comply. Craig doubted if the man would have been able to find them never mind kill them, but the fear was enough to frighten the child. That was how power worked. Create the illusion that you have it and the rest just flows.

Craig wondered where the two children were now and if they were even still alive. Had they survived their abuse? And if they had, what were they now? Still victims? Normal and well balanced? Or abusers themselves? And what was it about the voice on the tape that had made him feel like he’d heard it before?

Craig shook his head hard in frustration and grabbed a bottle of red wine from the rack. Beer hadn’t worked so he’d have to try something new. He’d drink all night if he had to. Anything to wipe the images out.

***

8 p.m.

The two cars pulled up simultaneously and Gerry Warner climbed out first. Rooney hung back for a moment, scanning the shopping centre car-park as if it was some sort of trap. It was deserted. Warner had found the only supermarket in Belfast that wasn’t open late on a Thursday night.

Rooney squinted through the windscreen suspiciously, searching for anything out of place. He knew Gerry Warner of old; he’s always been a tricky bastard, so why should he play straight now?

Warner stood with his arms folded, waiting for his protégé to emerge. By the looks of it Rooney’s paranoia was getting worse. Warner shrugged. He’d never liked Rooney much and he didn’t care if he was losing it now, he just wanted his help finding the Carraghers’ killer before they killed him.

Eventually the car door opened and Rooney emerged. He strolled arrogantly across the tarmac towards the older man.

“As trusting as ever I see, Alan?”

“As untrustworthy as ever, Gerry?”

Warner laughed at the repost. Rooney scanned the snow-covered car-park then blew on his hands.

“It’s too bloody cold for this. And how come this place is empty on late-shopping night?”

“It’s derelict. Follow me.”

Warner turned towards the supermarket’s entrance and forced the glass doors apart with his hands, walking into the echoing foyer. Rooney whistled admiringly.

“Great venue. We could get up to all sorts in here.”

“I was planning a party here before the shit started hitting the fan.” Warner stared seriously at the younger man. “The plods think a Chinese woman had something to do with the Carraghers’ death.”

Rooney didn’t move an inch and for a moment Warner thought that he hadn’t heard. He went to repeat the words and Rooney scowled and turned away. “I heard you.”

“Then you’ll know what this means. We need to clear out. Now. Unless you fancy being the next one to end up as Steak Tartare.”

Rooney wheeled round to face him. “Where did they find Ian?”

“They didn’t tell me, they haven’t even confirmed he’s dead. Why? What does it matter?”

Rooney looked thoughtful. “The Governors closed the school on Monday for the rest of the week. Mark of respect for Eileen. Only teachers were only allowed in the odd time, to work. They could have left Ian’s body there and I wouldn’t know.”

Warner looked irritated. “So fucking what? If he’s dead I don’t care if they hung him from the Cavehill. It’s me that I’m worried about.”

Rooney snarled his next words. “You stupid prick. You mightn’t care, but if they used the school again it means something.”

“What? What does it mean that’s so important?”

“If Ian was brought all the way there instead of just being left where he dropped, it means that whoever did it isn’t working alone. And don’t forget the symbolism.”

Warner nodded slowly as realisation dawned. One school was pretty much like another when you were trying to get a message across.

***

The Merchant Hotel. Belfast. 7.30 p.m.

By seven-thirty Natalie still hadn’t arrived and John’s nerves were in shreds. He was also on his second bottle of wine. He’d given the flowers to the Maître D, with instructions to bring them and champagne once he asked about dessert. Natalie never had dessert, preferring a starter and a main course, so he was safe. Perfect planning, even though he did say so himself.

He had it all worked out. Light chit-chat during the first course, a natural hiatus after the second and plenty of wine throughout. Relaxing, elegant and the perfect setting for the big moment. He could see it now. Natalie would be wearing her favourite dress and smiling lovingly at him across the table, then he’d take her hand in his and kiss her knuckles, like he’s seen them do in the movies. Why her knuckles he didn’t know, but it always looked good when George Clooney did it. She’d stare at him like he was a God and hang on his every word and then he’d say ‘Natalie. There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for months.’ Not strictly true, it had been more like forty-eight hours, but that didn’t sound as good.

She’d say ‘Yes, darling.’ Well, all right, probably not darling, maybe ‘pet’ or ‘dear’. Something affectionate anyway. Then he’d drop on one knee in front of everyone, her eyes would light up and he’d ask her to be his wife. Cue Natalie crying and screaming ‘yes’ yes’. No, hang on, that was the restaurant scene in ‘When Harry met Sally’, wasn’t it? Well she’d say a definite yes, however she said it, and then he’d call for dessert. It might seem a bit incongruous to want chocolate mousse at such a romantic moment, but he needed the flowers brought in.

John smiled drunkenly and topped up his glass, certain that the details would iron themselves out. After all, Natalie would be so overwhelmed with emotion that she’d notice nothing but him.

John’s daydream was rudely interrupted by a thud, as Natalie dropped her rucksack on the floor by his chair. She grabbed his wineglass and tipped her head back, draining it in one gulp; then she sighed heavily.

“That bastard Owen really needs to be dealt with. That’s the third evening I’ve been off that he’s called me back into theatre at five o’clock.”

John leaned forward to say something soothing but Natalie waved him back, warming to her theme.

“Of course, it’s only because he’s older than God that he gets away with it. There ought to be some rule to make surgeons retire when they get irritating.”

John bit his tongue very hard, thinking how few surgeons would still have a job by that criterion.

“And then there was the anaesthetist! Well he’s been sniffing his own drugs, that’s for sure. Gas-men, huh! They only choose the job ’cos they’re already half asleep.”

John folded his arms and let Natalie rant about every injustice in her world, smiling his way into another glass of wine. After five minutes she stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering where they were. She cast a look around them and then stared at John’s suit. Her face fell. She gazed down at her jeans and T-shirt and blushed deep red.

“You’re all dressed up!” It was accompanied by an accusing look and an affectionate tone.

John nodded drunkenly. “I am.”

“And I’m not. I’m so sorry, John. I meant to go home first and change, but what with theatre…”

John raised his hand gently and made a soothing noise. “It doesn’t matter, Nat. You’re here and that’s all I care about.” He handed her the menu. “What would you like to eat? Some of the starters look good.”

Tears rushed to fill Natalie’s eyes and John stared at her, aghast. What on earth was she crying for? He hadn’t even asked her yet!

“Don’t be nice to me, John. I’m late and scruffy and I’ve been ranting for ten minutes. And the place is beautiful, and you look…”

A tear rolled down her cheek and she sniffed and dashed it away. It was followed by another, released by tiredness and shame. John wanted to kiss them away and take her in his arms, but he couldn’t; they were in the middle of a restaurant surrounded by the great and good. Unless…

He caught the Maître D’s eye and he was over at the table in a flash, holding the dessert menu in his hand.

“Yes, sir?”

John smiled and the man smiled back. “Two of your best desserts, please. And hopefully everything else soon after.”

Natalie gazed at him, bewildered. “But we haven’t eaten dinner yet, and I’m so scruffy and…”

Johns saw Natalie’s lips move but he didn’t hear another word. They were drowned-out by a rush of blood to his brain. To hell with his plan! John reached over and pulled Natalie towards him, kissing her hard. Natalie gawped at him, her eyes widening. They widened even further when John dropped on one knee and took her hand. He stared up into her wide blue eyes then he let his gaze roam over her pert face and long dark hair.

“I’d planned this very differently, Nat, I’d…. Oh hell. I don’t care. I love you. Would you…”

Before John could say the words Natalie whispered “yes”, so softly that he barely heard. His eyes widened questioningly and she said it again.

“Yes! Yes, yes, I’ll marry you, John. I love you so much. Yes.”

The tears ran down her cheeks unchecked now, but this time they were tears of joy. John lifted her in his arms and swung her round, much to the surprise of the other guests. Then the room full of diners rose to their feet in a round of applause and the next thing Natalie knew she was holding flowers, and John was shaking hands with people he’d never met. They drank champagne and ate and planned for hours until John suggested that they book a room upstairs. Then they talked on and on, until the hotel was quiet and the street was dark and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.