The Slowest Cut (17 page)

“Tell him we’re the police and he’s safe. Warn him that I’m going to pick him up.”

One minute later the boy was upstairs in the house’s bright hallway, his eyes covered with Jake’s hanky to shield them from the unaccustomed light.

“Get an ambulance, and I want a W.P.C to go with him to the hospital.”

Liam pointed towards two sergeants, beckoning them over to one side. Jake knew from their changing expressions that he was telling them what they’d found downstairs, and tasking them to go down and check every single room for signs of life. They nodded hesitantly and then Liam called the local C.S.I.s. When he’d finished he strode out of the house into the afternoon sun. Jake joined him just as Liam was wiping his mouth, the smell of fresh vomit blowing away in the seaside air. Jake gave him a rueful smile.

“I wish I was drunk right now, sir.”

Liam laughed, despite himself. “I know what you mean, lad.” He dragged a hand down his pale face. “God, I need a beer.”

Jake pulled the car-keys from his pocket and tossed them in the air. “Then let’s go and get one. The C.S.I.s will be here for hours and we can’t go home until everything’s done.” He gestured towards the house. “They know what they’re doing and they can call us at any time.”

Liam looked at his watch. It was four o’clock and they hadn’t even had lunch yet. He gave a weak grin. “You’re on, lad. And let me tell you, with that sort of attitude you’ll go far.”

As Jake drove them into the centre of Newcastle and found a bar that overlooked the sea, Liam phoned Craig to tell him the worst. Except that the worst wasn’t over yet.

Chapter Nineteen

5 p.m.

Craig put down the phone and gazed out at the river, willing its waves to wash away the words Liam had just said. This case was getting filthier by the day and he had a strong feeling that it hadn’t reached its blackest point yet. The late winter sky was darkening, ready for evening, echoing Liam’s words and his own mood.

After a moment’s sombre thought, Craig shook himself and walked out onto the open floor, beckoning Davy and Annette to take a seat.

“We need a quick debrief.”

Annette looked surprised and glanced at the clock. “Aren’t we waiting for Liam and Jake?”

Craig shook his head. “They’re staying in Newcastle overnight.” He paused, toying with repeating Liam’s exact words. “It was the descent into hell, boss.” He thought better of it and motioned Annette to report on her witness’ sketch. He’d get to the worst when she and Davy had finished.

Annette lifted some stapled hand-outs and passed them round, tapping the page on top. It held the black and white likeness of a young man; once again the C.C.U.’s sketch artist Ernie had excelled himself. Davy stared at the drawing in awe.

“Cool. This looks almost real. Does Ernie take commissions, Annette?”

She shook her head. “No idea. Why don’t you ask him? Are you thinking of getting Maggie done?”

Davy blushed and nodded. “It’s her birthday soon and I thought it w…would make a nice gift.”

Craig stared at the sketch as they talked. The man was in his twenties, slim and dark, with his hair worn in a modern, spiked style. He had regular features and pale skin, as if he never saw the sun, but it suited him, making his dark eyes more intense and throwing his bone structure into sharp relief. The eyes were Ernie’s speculation of course; the man had worn sunglasses the whole time he’d been in ‘The Cutting Edge’.

After a moment’s more staring Craig shook his head; it didn’t look like anyone that they’d met during the case. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping for, but finding their man wasn’t going to be as easy as all that. He set the hand-out to one side and turned to Annette.

“Great likeness, Annette, but no-one we know.”

“That’s just what I was thinking.”

“Did Mr Archer say anything about the man’s voice, except that he had a local accent?”

“Sorry, no. He just said it was ‘normal’.”

Annette peered closely at the picture, willing some information to leap out. There was none. She turned the page over and Craig suddenly realised there’d been another page underneath. He lifted his hand-out and stared hard at the drawing. It was a red kite, set inside a white and gold circle.

“This is the logo from the hold-all he was carrying?”

Annette nodded and Craig turned to Davy, about to ask him to run it for I.D.; Davy’s smile said he’d already done it.

“It’s a Chinese restaurant in S…South Belfast, chief. The Red Kite. It’s just down the road from the one owned by Ryan Carragher.”

A Chinese restaurant! It was way more than coincidence and Craig didn’t even believe in that.

“Thanks, Davy. Let me have anything you can find on the owners and whoever works there. Run the sketch through the usual checks and let’s see if we get a hit.” He paused for a moment then with one eye on Annette he added another request. “While you’re at it, run Ryan Carragher as well.”

Annette gawped at him, surprised. “On what basis? If we start running people randomly it will come out in court.”

Craig smiled. He’d known Annett would object and he didn’t mind. She was a stickler for procedure and she balanced Liam out; and him when he was in one of his moods. But this time she was wrong.

“We should already have run him, Annette, and the other son. Both their parents are dead; they have to be suspects now. We’ve been following a phantom woman with small feet and that’s fine, I’m sure that it’s the right way to go. But we can’t ignore the fact that thirty percent of murders are committed by family members.” He turned back to Davy. “Run both Carragher boys, Davy, and the logo. Then we’re getting them both in for interview.”

Craig paused and sipped at his coffee for what seemed like a long time. Annette knew that there was something he was reluctant to say, so she gave him a way to start.

“Liam and Jake must have found something pretty special not to be coming back this evening.”

It was a statement, but Craig heard the subtle question mark at the end. He nodded slowly. Special wasn’t the word he would have used. Horrific, disgusting or evil described their find more effectively. Before he told them Craig grabbed at the last diversion he could find.

“Any word on why the school closed, Davy?”

Davy smiled, showing the whitest teeth that Craig had ever seen. Maggie had been beautifying him again. Craig smiled to himself. At least she’d stopped him painting his fingernails. She’d even got him wearing a tie some days and he didn’t seem to mind. The power of love. He wondered what was next, eyeing Davy’s long hair. No, not even Maggie would try to change that. A man’s hair was his own business. Samson had brought down a temple because of it after all.

He realised that Davy was speaking.

“It was hard to get to the bottom of it, chief. The architects and planners said they knew nothing; they came in after the fact. So I w…went to the education board. That’s when I got s…somewhere.”

He crossed to his computer horseshoe, beckoning them to come and look. The right-hand screen held the pictures of the school’s before and after renovations. On the central one was an e-mail from the head of the education board; Nigel Ross. Davy pointed to one line towards the end.

‘Certain concerns at the school led us to ask parents to remove their children. More specifically there were allegations of inappropriate behaviour between some teachers and pupils.”

Annette raised her eyebrows. “They wouldn’t have just left it like that. There had to have been an investigation.”

Davy shook his head. “That’s w…what I thought, so I called Mr Ross. But no, there was nothing. It w…was a private school that took in the children of rich people who travelled or lived abroad. No-one made a complaint. They just took their kids and disappeared off round the w…world.”

Craig interjected. “No social service or police involvement, Davy? Surely there must have been that?

“No. Nothing.”

Craig dragged his hand down his face thoughtfully. It had been 2004 and thinking on child abuse wasn’t as tight as nowadays. People were still wary of ‘offending’ professionals, holding them in awe, and parents often didn’t want a scandal and hushed things up. It was how so many schools and religious institutions had got away with abuse for years. Something occurred to him.

“How did they find out in the first place, then?”

Davy stared blankly at him.

“Who made the original allegation?”

Realisation dawned on Davy and he shook his head. “It was anonymous, apparently. A phone-call to the education board.”

Annette nodded. “No-one would have bothered to trace it unless the police had got involved.”

Craig frowned. “Do we know who took the call, Davy?”

“Nigel Ross. They asked for him by name.”

“Did he say if it was child’s voice?”

“No, but give me a minute.”

Davy turned quickly back to his desk and lifted the phone. After a brief conversation he turned back to them.

“Definitely an adult. A woman with a local accent. Well spoken.”

Craig snapped his fingers and smiled. “Someone at that school knew that something was going on and blew the whistle.”

Annette’s face dropped. “But there could have been a hundred women working there, in one or other capacity, sir. Teachers, cleaners, canteen workers...”

Craig shook his head. “I doubt it, Annette. We’re talking ten years ago, remember. Perhaps in a girls-only school, but Marcheson’s had boys up to seventeen-years-old. The majority of teachers would still have been male. I’ll lay odds on it. Right. Davy, get the names of every staff member and find out where they are now, any females that are still alive, give their names to Annette to follow up.”

Annette’s face fell and he shook his head.

“There won’t be more than a handful that fit, Annette. If the Head of Education thinks they were well-spoken then they probably were. I think we’re looking for a female teacher and I want to know what they knew.”

Craig sat back and stared at the floor for a moment. When he spoke again his voice was dark. “I’m going to tell you why Liam and Jake are staying in Newcastle overnight. It’s pretty bad, so prepared to be shocked.”

Over the next five minutes he outlined their find at the Carraghers’ house. The underground prison with its booby-trapped entrance and external outline, spotted by Liam’s eagle-eye. The dank corridor with cells off each side, and the little boy found barely alive. Finally he told them about the torture room, with its chains and manacles, spattered blood and rags. He talked on as Annette screwed up her face in revulsion and Davy looked as if he was going to explode. Craig’s voice broke as he delivered the final blow.

“They’ve found four bodies down there so far, all children. We don’t know how many more they’ll find buried in the grounds.”

Craig hadn’t looked at them as he’d recounted Liam’s words, deliberately avoiding their eyes so that he could make it to the end. Now he did and what he saw there was the normal range of human responses to the work of the inhumane. There was silence for a moment, almost in respect. Finally Craig broke it.

“Give Liam and Jake some space tomorrow when they return, please. It’s bad enough hearing about it, but remember they actually discovered it and saw the children.”

“It w…was a dungeon, chief.”

Craig nodded. That’s exactly what it had been. He thought of the young boy they’d found and then of Aurelie, safe and warm now in temporary foster care, but still unable to help them find her Mum. But they could grieve for them later; there was too much to do right now.

“OK. Annette, tomorrow morning I want you to start searching for the teacher who called Nigel Ross and get the Carraghers boys into High Street. I’ll interview them myself. When Liam and Jake return they can visit the Chinese restaurant.”

He turned to Davy. “Davy, if there is a hyper-drive on your computers then get it working on this. I want those aging and regressing photos by tomorrow close-of-play and I want this sketch run through every database you can find. Follow up Aurelie’s school and the Gendarmes, as soon as you have a photo of what she would have looked like a few years back. And let’s pray she has parents who will be glad to see her. Get copies of every photo down to Aidan Hughes as well, just on the off-chance that he recognises someone.”

Craig lifted the sketch of the young man and turned back to Annette. “Annette, do the same with this sketch, please. Get it to Aidan and ask him to rack his brain. I want to know if he’s seen this man at a club, with or without a Chinese woman.” He stopped for a moment, remembering something. “The man who organised the house party, Edgar Tate, do we have anything on him yet?”

Davy leaned in, his face flushed with excitement. “Yes, sir.” Craig smiled. He must be excited, that was the first time Davy had called him ‘sir’ in months.

“Vice have him locked up.”

“Good. Leave that with me. I’ll see if I can meet him after I interview the Carragher brothers.”

Craig glanced at his watch. It was nearly six o’clock. He thought of Liam and Jake and the evening they had ahead of them, and made a decision.

“OK. That’s it for tonight. Go home you two, and great work. This is a dirty case and it’ll get dirtier. So let’s crack it ASAP and get back to good clean murders again.”

He smiled, knowing there was no such thing. Then he was off his chair and out the door. Heading to Newcastle, to see if he could be any help.

Chapter Twenty

It had been surprisingly easy to lift Alan Rooney, on a quiet Friday afternoon with no children around. The school had been deserted, apart from teachers catching up on paperwork, and the caretaker in the yard, brushing away the fluttering remnants of crime-scene tape. He’d swept the detritus of the week into small piles, ready to be shovelled into large metal bins set against the wall, then he’d readied himself to close up for the weekend.

They watched him from a distance, in the relative comfort of the small van they’d hired. Mai scanned the car-park, searching for the familiar olive skin belonging to one young man. She stared at Rooney’s sports car sitting alone against a wall, its sleek lines announcing its owner as important. Only in his own mind. To her Alan Rooney was what he really was. Cruel. And soon to be dead.

They took him easily, with far less of a fight than she’d pictured in her mind. The look in Rooney’s eyes when he’d seen her had been a silent shrug, as if he’d known that it was coming and that there was no way out. Mai felt thwarted. As if his struggle had been part of some unspoken contract that he’d reneged on . Her anger bubbled and then subsided quickly as they forced him into the van, Alan Rooney’s last sight of normal life his car’s number plate, then darkness as they blindfolded him for the trip. There was no point in her getting angry and there was no need. Getting even was much more fun.

***

Newcastle. 9 p.m.

Craig raked his hair sadly and stared at the row of body-bags on the lawn. Seven so far and they hadn’t finished yet. He stared into the distance, as the dog-handlers and men with scanners set up camp at the garden’s farthest end. They’d go over every inch of ground and every bush, searching for bodies and bones or whatever they could find. They could be here for weeks.

He felt Liam walk up behind him before he heard his voice. It was surprisingly soft and Craig could hear a mixture of pain and exhaustion in every word.

“I’m sorry the Carraghers are dead, boss. They should be here to answer for this.”

Craig nodded and turned, catching sight of Jake leaning against a tree. He was smoking and Craig knew that he didn’t. Stress. Craig half-smiled at Liam.

“Do you feel as rough as you look?”

“Aye. And then some.” Liam rubbed his face, transferring some of the grime on his hand to his cheek. Craig said nothing. It was unimportant.

“I hope we find every one of the bastards and get to throw away the key, boss.” He shuddered. “Although I don’t know how many years would be enough for this.”

“There aren’t enough. Perhaps that’s why our killers are meting out justice themselves.”

“Aye, well. You wouldn’t trust the system much if teachers can do this.”

Liam kicked a loose twig at his feet, watching it fly across the ground. Craig could see a question coming. It wasn’t the one he’d expected.

“How come they escaped?”

“Who?”

“The Chinese girl and whoever she’s working with.” He gestured at the row of bodies. “If she was a victim and the Carragher’s normally killed them, how come they let her go?”

Craig stared at him, uncomprehending at first and then in open admiration. “Liam, you’re brilliant!”

Liam looked shocked at the compliment, then claimed it as if he got one every day. “Aye well, Danni says that, but I don’t like to be big-headed.” He laughed, casting a look around to avoid offense, then gave Craig a puzzled look. “Why am I brilliant? Apart from the obvious, I mean.”

“Because you’ve just pointed out something that I’d missed. You’re right. How did she get away?” He indicated the house. “There’s no way anyone got out of there.” Craig thought for a moment and then realised. “She didn’t escape from here. If she was the girl in the video she would have been at the school until 2004. They bought this place in ‘95.”

“What?”

Craig was so excited he almost shouted the answer. “The hotel!”

Liam screwed up his face, puzzled. “What hotel?”

Craig realised he and Jake had been on the road when Davy had made his find. He brought him quickly up to date.

“So you’re telling me that the Down Hartley Hotel used to be the boarding school where the Carraghers met? I took Danni there for our last anniversary.”

“Yes. We’ve seen the architect’s photos before it was renovated. One of the shots of the boiler-room matched the backdrop of Aidan’s porn video with the Chinese girl.”

Liam shook his head vehemently. “Oh hell, no. I’m definitely not telling Danni about this.” He paused, thinking. “So they were at it when the hotel was still a school and the girl escaped from there?”

Craig went to agree but stopped mid-nod. Something still didn’t fit. If the Carraghers had been this security conscious here, he couldn’t imagine they’d been any less so at the school. So how had the girl got away? Or, was it because she’d escaped that they’d become determined it wouldn’t happen again and built tis prison? The options raced through his mind as he tried to settle on one. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t be able to until they got more bits of the puzzle.

Craig turned quickly towards the car, beckoning them to join him. “We’re heading back to Belfast.”

Jake coughed and threw his cigarette on the ground, stamping it out with his heel.

“Those things will kill you, Jake.”

“But, sir, we can’t leave.”

Craig halted mid-stride. “Listen. This was great work, but look around you. This is a forensics job now and they’ll be here for weeks. You have to trust the locals. They’ll keep you in the loop.”

He turned to Liam. “Liam, is the local Superintendent up to speed?”

“All the way.”

“Fine.” He pointed to the most senior uniformed officer. “Go and tell him we’re going back to Belfast and he’s to call you the minute anything changes. I’ll call the Super on the way and do the same.”

Craig stopped and squinted at both of them. “What time did you two have a drink?”

“Three hours ago, and only one.”

He threw his car keys to Jake. “Jake, breathalyse yourself before you drive. If you’re sober take my car and go home and get some rest. You know where I live?”

Jake stared at the keys, taken aback. “Yes, sir. It’s on the duty roster.”

“Good. Collect me tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. We’ll be working all weekend by the look of it. Liam, let’s go. I need to bring you up to date on some other things.”

They were halfway to Liam’s car when Liam realised Jake was staring at Craig open-mouthed. Liam nodded. “You’ve never him on a roll, have you, son?”

Jake stammered out a ‘no’.

“Aye well, after long periods in seclusion the snow leopard springs, and all that crap. Watch and learn.” He waved cheerfully. “See you tomorrow. And watch his clutch. It slips.”

***

The sixty minute drive gave Liam plenty of time to recount the full horror of what they’d seen, then crack every inappropriate joke he knew. Craig wanted him to get it out of his system before they debriefed in the morning. In his book there was no need for anyone who didn’t have to, to know the full details of what they’d found. If it could be summarised and sanitised then that’s what they’d do, but meanwhile Liam needed to vent. He’d reached the stage of macabre jokes when Craig’s mobile rang. Craig nodded Liam to answer it as he turned off the A49.

“Superintendent Craig’s phone.”

The sharp intake of breath at the other end was followed by a female voice, machine-gunning out a stream of words, none of which Liam understood.

“Here now. Start again, please. I didn’t catch one word of that.”

A deep sigh was followed by an exaggeratedly patient voice. “I say, where is my son? Why he not here for dinner?”

Liam recognised the broken English of Mirella, Craig’s Italian mother, and hastily pressed speaker. Mirella muttered long enough for Craig to realise who it was and smile. He yelled at the phone in Liam’s hand.

“Hi Mum. I can’t talk, I’m driving.”

“Why you driving? Where are you? And why you not call and say you will be late? I cook your favourite.”

Without waiting for an answer she reverted to her native tongue, having what Liam gathered was a rant. Craig answered her in Italian, making Liam smile. It was always a surprise when he heard the boss speak Italian or French. He was fluent in both but he never used them at work, so when he did it felt like a window into his private life.

After a minute of conversation during which Liam only recognised one word, ‘cheeky’, Craig said ‘Ciao, Mama’ and signalled for him to cut the call.

Liam guffawed loudly. “I recognise that tone. You’re in the shit for forgetting to call.”

“Got it in one. But it’s worse. I completely forgot it was Friday night.”

Mirella Craig had designated Friday evening the time for family dinner and expected her children to attend each one. Short of a letter from the Prime minister or a Papal dispensation there was no acceptable excuse. Murder investigations just didn’t cut it.

Liam nodded in sympathy. “Here, do you think women learn that voice at school? Like, is there a special class called ‘voices you can use on men’? ’Cos your Mum sounded just like Danni in a snit.”

Craig laughed. “No, I think they’re born with it. Julia had it down to a fine art. In fact, she didn’t even need to speak to get her irritation across.”

Liam laughed again and then hesitated. Craig had opened the door by mentioning Julia McNulty, but he wondered if he should walk through. Craig read his mind and smiled.

“Spit it out, Liam. I know there’s something you’d like to say.”

“Aye well.” Liam adopted a tone of concern. “Are you OK, like? With the whole McNulty thing?”

Craig laughed. “The McNulty thing! I’ve heard it said lots of ways but that’s a new one. You mean, am I all right about my relationship with Julia ending?”

Liam nodded furiously and Craig knew he was blushing in the darkened car. “Aye. That’s it. I’m not prying, boss, but…”

“It’s fine, Liam, don’t panic. Yes, I’m OK with splitting with Julia. It wasn’t working.”

“Aye. The distance. It’s a fair hike to Limavady and back all the time.”

Craig shook his head in the dark. “It wasn’t just that. There were other things too. If there hadn’t been then we would have found a way to deal with the mileage.”

“Hard work, boss?”

“Very hard work. And a wise man once told me if a relationship was right it shouldn’t be that hard.”

“That’s a good one. Who told you that?”

Craig glanced at him and smiled. “You.”