The Slowest Cut (19 page)

He turned to Liam. “Pick him up and bring him into High Street. I’ll interview him with you later. Annette, when you see Ryan Carragher, show him the sketches of the woman, the man and the logo on the holdall. In fact, show him Aurelie’s sketch as well and watch his face. We don’t know whether Aurelie was anything to do with his parents, but with the discovery of the boy in Newcastle I’m not ruling it out.”

Davy signalled to speak. “If both the Carraghers were involved with kids, then w…what are the odds the sons weren’t aware?”

Craig shook his head. “Slim to none I’d say, but we have to treat them like grieving family or potential victims, until we know for sure. OK. I’m meeting Aidan to interview the owner of the house. But first Jake, you and I are taking a trip to see Aurelie in half-an-hour. You can visit the restaurant with Liam when we get back. Bring the sketches and a live photo of the Carraghers, please. If the social worker allows me I’m going to see if she recognises them.” He stood up. “Annette, what time is Ryan Carragher coming in?”

“Twelve o’clock.”

“OK, good. Can you come into my office for a moment, please? Everyone else, sorry, but we’re going to be working most of the weekend, there’s a lot to do.”

Ten minutes later Annette had told Craig everything she knew about Nicky’s tax problem. Craig dragged a hand down his face and stared out at the Lagan. The day was unexpectedly mild, with that mix of sunshine and light frost that usually said Halloween. The sun was lighting the river with silver and a gentle breeze was urging it along so quickly that it looked like a sheet of molten glass. He stared at it for so long that Annette finally coughed; reminding him she was in the room.

Craig turned to her with a smile. “What’s the bottom line?”

Annette frowned and pulled out her notebook, flicking to a page. “Six thousand, eight hundred and forty-two pounds. But it might as well be a million pounds for them.”

Craig nodded and reached for his wallet, ignoring her open mouth. He pulled out a card and handed it to her. “Take a note of the numbers, then on Monday morning phone the VAT people and pay the bill. They’re not to tell Nicky that someone paid it, please, they’re to say it was an error on their part, but emphasise to Gary that he needs to keep up-to-date with his returns in future.”

“Just in case he gets them in the same mess again.”

He nodded then smiled at her. “I don’t want any talk of this in the office, please, Annette.”

“But Nicky will want to thank you.”

“Nicky will never know there’s anything to thank me for, if the VAT people do as they’re asked. It’ll be worth it to see her happy again. Her grumping about was bad enough but it was affecting her coffee-making as well.” He waved her out. “Now, go and have a break until Carragher arrives. Jake and I will be with Aurelie, then I’m going to see Aidan Hughes.”

“What time are we briefing tomorrow morning? Just, Pete wanted to take us all out for breakfast.”

Craig’s eyes were already back on the river. “Eleven o’clock. Even we deserve a lie-in on Sunday.”

***

Social Care Foster Home, Antrim Road, Belfast.

10.30 a.m.

Aurelie was as ethereal looking as Craig remembered her, but much tidier. Her white-blonde hair was combed neatly back from her face and anchored in a low ponytail. Her purple leggings and pink fleece dress made her look exactly like what she was, an eleven-year-old girl who should be dreaming of ponies and new friends, not sitting in a room full of strangers with only a social worker to hold her hand.

The little girl’s face had lit up as soon as Craig entered the room. She went to rush towards him, but her stocky companion held her back and rose instead, drawing them quickly to one side. Her voice was a stage whisper as she gave them instructions, and one eye watched Aurelie as she stared at Craig.

“You won’t ask her anything difficult, will you, Superintendent? It’s just that she’s cried since she was brought here until a couple of hours ago, and we don’t want her upset again.”

Craig glanced at Aurelie, seeing the tell-tale redness around her eyes. He nodded and the social worker motioned them to sit. Craig perched beside Aurelie on a small settee. He leaned forward towards the girl, introducing Jake in French, then explaining that they were in touch with the Gendarmes and trying to locate her family. On the word ‘famille’ her face lit up and she clapped her hands happily.

“Maman, Maman. Vous avez trouvé Maman? Où est-elle? (Mummy, Mummy, you’ve found Mummy. Where is she?)

Craig shook his head gently and watched as her face fell and tears started to roll down her cheeks. He smiled at her, ignoring the social worker’s gimlet stare, then softened the blow by explaining they were doing everything they could to find her mother and wouldn’t stop until they had. Aurelie nodded and gave a wet half-smile then Craig said something to her in French that made her laugh. Jake made up his mind to learn a language. It looked like it might come in handy someday.

When Aurelie seemed slightly happier Craig motioned Jake to hand him the folder that he’d been holding on his lap. It held photographs of the Carraghers and the others, and the exterior of the Newcastle house. He wanted to see if she recognised it. The house’s interior could wait indefinitely for her I.D. Craig chatted softly for another moment then composed his face in a serious look that signalled his next words would be important.

“Aurelie. Ne soyez pas effrayé, s'il vous plaît.” (Aurelie, don’t be frightened, please.)

She nodded hesitantly.

“J'ai des photos de certaines personnes. Dites-moi si vous les connaissez. ” (I have pictures of some people. Tell me if you know them.)

Her eyes widened instantly and she jerked back in her seat. Craig held her gaze. The gentleness in his eyes was clear to everyone, but there was a second message that only she could see. ‘Help us. You’re safe now but we must catch these people.’

Her companion leaned forward and shook her head. “No. Mr Craig. She’s not ready for this.” A small hand touched her knee, surprising her, and she turned to see the girl nodding.

“Are you certain?”

Aurelie understood what the social worker had asked, if not the exact words. She nodded again and the woman motioned Craig on, watching Aurelie’s face carefully as he withdrew the photograph of the Chinese girl. Aurelie gazed at it bewildered and then touched the woman’s hair and eyes. For one moment Craig wondered if they’d met before then she shook her head and he realised it had just been a child’s curiosity about another race.

He smiled and took the photo back then slid the Carraghers’ picture from the file and placed it face-down on his knee. It was the most important one to show Aurelie after the girl’s. It wasn’t an I.D. parade; that would have been redundant now that the Carraghers were dead, but if Aurelie recognised them it would join the dots between them and her abduction; the house could wait for another day. Craig held the photograph on his knee for a moment before asking again.

“Certain?”

Aurelie nodded. “Certain, monsieur.”

Craig turned over the photograph slowly, watching Aurelie’s face carefully as he did. She reacted instantly; the horror of what she’d lived through etched immediately on her face. Tears ran thick and fast down her cheeks and Craig thrust the image at Jake to conceal it, then he leaned forward and gently took her hands as Aurelie stared at him, wild-eyed.

“Je suis désolé, Aurélie. Ils sont partis maintenant. Vous saviez tous les deux?” (I’m sorry, Aurelie. They’ve gone now. You knew both of them?)

She nodded again then sobbed so hard that Craig thought his heart would break. But her knowing the Carraghers was a connection between them and her being at the sex party. It could be a vital link in the case. Craig soothed her softly with words Jake didn’t understand until eventually Aurelie’s sobs subsided and she sniffed and dried her eyes. Then she whispered something, so softly that even Craig, six inches away from her, couldn’t hear. He asked her to repeat it.

“Encore, s'il vous plaît, Aurelie.”

Her young voice rose and the word she said was clear in any language. “Diable.”

The Carraghers were devils. It was enough for today and it gave Craig the noose to hang Tate and Gerry Warner with.

***

Rooney had died too quickly. His cowardly screams had echoed through the garage, until eventually she’d got bored with them and ramped up the Heavy Metal to drown them out. Mai had done exactly what she’d done before, but those times her lover had watched her, arms folded, even if he’d declined her offers to join in. She knew why he didn’t watch this time. The first time had been exciting, so exciting that it had led to her laughing hysterically afterwards for hours. The frisson had been less with the second, although he was even guiltier in ways. By the time she’d got to Alan Rooney she’d almost yawned.

Mai remembered his young, sallow skin. It should have given her more pleasure to kill him; after all, he’d had more years left to do evil, filthy things. But instead it had given her less. Rooney had been boring in life and boring as he died. She was bored.

She gazed across the table and reached for her lover’s hand. “Only one more left.”

He shook his head. “Let’s leave it, Mai, please. We’ve done enough to stop them.”

He wasn’t even slightly surprised when she screamed in his face.

“Leave it! Leave it? Are you mad? Leave Warner alive after what he did? What he’ll do again, given half a chance.”

Mai grabbed a knife from the dish rack and drew the blade swiftly across her arm, watching fascinated as the red droplets slid down it and then fell into the sink. He moved quickly to her side, seizing the knife and casting it away then he pulled her to his chest and stroked her hair. He buried his face in the silky strands and whispered, soothing Mai as she cried.

“There now. It’s OK. We’ll kill him, I promise. Then we’ll go so far away that they’ll never find us again.”

***

11.30 a.m.

“Boss, we can’t find Warner.”

Liam’s voice boomed through the Audi’s speakerphone as Craig drove down the Antrim Road towards town. He nodded Jake to lift the handset.

“What do you mean you can’t find him, Liam?”

Liam stared at his mobile, puzzled, then he remembered.

“Hello, lad. I forgot you were going with the boss. Any joy with the girl?”

Craig could hear every word Liam’s loud voice said and he yelled at the handset. “We’ll tell you later. What about Warner?”

“Aye, well. I’ve been to his house, the school, the pub he hangs out in, even the gym where he plays squash. No joy. I’ve an all-points out on his car and Uniform’s keeping an eye out around town.”

Craig shook his head and sighed. It wouldn’t matter how hard they looked. Gerry Warner had gone. The only question was where.

“Tell Liam to have the airports checked, if Warner’s lucky he’s managed to skip the country.”

“Or?”

“He’s been taken. My money’s on the latter.”

Jake started to relay the words when Liam cut him off. “I heard. I agree with the boss. Warner’s dead. It’s only a matter of when and where he turns up.”

“They won’t leave him at the school this time; it’s been completely sealed off.”

“Where, then?”

Craig interjected. “I don’t think it’ll be far. They won’t want to drive around for long with a corpse in the boot.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find out eventually.”

He glanced at the clock. “Look, it’s almost twelve o’clock now. Jake, I have to go back to the office to see Ryan Carragher and Aidan, but you and Liam should just check out the restaurant then call it a day until we hear something about Warner. We’ll meet for a briefing tomorrow morning at eleven.”

Jake relayed the message and clicked the phone off.

“Where’s your car, Jake?”

“Basement of the C.C.U., sir. I’ll meet Liam there.”

Ten minutes later they drove pass the elderly gate officer and Craig parked his Audi in the nearest spot. He took the lift seven floors and went straight to Aidan Hughes’ office; after he seen him he’d see what Ryan Carragher had to say.

***

Annette had managed to persuade someone to speak to her at the VAT office on a Saturday; perhaps miracles did happen after all. They’d taken the payment eagerly; however, they were less eager to say that it had been their mistake. Annette tried politeness, begging and finally veiled threats of legal repercussions if they ever jay-walked, but the stolid sounding woman at the other end of the line was having none of it. As she repeated herself for the tenth time Annette found herself mouthing the woman’s words, hard Belfast accent and all.

“We can’t go around making ‘ceptions to the truth, nye can we? Else people’d never learn, nye would they?”

It was a rhetorical question. The woman was already so convinced of her own infallibility that even a grunted assent was a waste of breath. Annette bit her tongue hard and tried another tack.

“OK, then. How about if you just said it was paid by an anonymous donor? That’s not a lie, is it?”

She paused, expecting an immediate ‘no’, but instead there was silence. Annette thought she could actually hear the woman’s neurons firing while she considered her reply. The longer the silence continued the more hopeful Annette could feel herself becoming. She stamped on her optimism, squashing it; time enough for celebration if the woman said yes.

The silence was finally broken by a long drawn out, “welll…” that brought Annette’s optimism surging forth again. “I suppose that wud be aw-right. I’ll have ta check with my supervisor.”

A moment later a man came on the line. His voice signalled an uncertain age somewhere between forty and death. Annette thought they probably felt like the same thing, working in the VAT office.

“Mrs McElroy?”

Annette was taken aback by her civilian title and paused for a moment while she remembered who Mrs McElroy was.

“Oh. Yes, that’s me.”

“May I ask you why Mr Craig doesn’t wish his kindness to be known?”

Annette smiled. How to explain a boss who hid his generosity behind a complaint about the quality of Nicky’s coffee? She did her best and to her surprise the supervisor laughed. In the VAT office! There was probably a financial penalty for such things.