The Slowest Cut (7 page)

Craig interrupted. “OK then, let’s say that Liam’s right. Let’s say that no-one goes from ‘normal’, whatever that is, to performing the level of torture that Eileen Carragher endured, without some practice. No matter how much they hated her it would have been hard to listen to screams, unless you’d been sadistic before.”

He turned to Davy. “Davy, get onto D.C.I. Hughes in Vice and see what he can tell you about the BDSM scene in Northern Ireland. There must be clubs for it, some well-known, some less so. Vice will know where they are. When you’re talking to him, ask about couples and groups who engage in particularly sadistic sex. Liam, get the word out on the street that we’re looking for people with sadistic tendencies, men and women. Particularly small women.”

Liam looked shocked and Craig realised he hadn’t told them about the woman’s footprint at the scene. He brought them up to date.

“If there is a woman involved she didn’t do it alone, so we’re looking at couples or groups.”

Annette leaned forward. “What would you like me to do, sir?”

“Come with me, Annette, and you too, Jake. We’re going back to High Street to have another go at Dr Warner.”

They turned to walk off the floor and Liam yelled after them. “I’ll tell Jack to heat up his whip.”

Chapter Ten

Ian Carragher left the science park and pulled out onto the Saintfield Road, indicating towards Belfast city centre. Dr Winter, the pathologist, had been kind, but despite his entreaties he wouldn’t let him view the body, veiling his refusal in a mysterious. “Really, it wouldn’t help.” Instead, he’d sat him down in a small office and brought him tea, then he’d gone through the reports that proved the woman they’d found had definitely been Eileen, his wife of twenty years. The DNA said so, so it must be true.

They’d talked for a while longer and then Dr Winter had left him alone to think until he was ready to leave. Now he was driving into town to make funeral arrangements for the woman he’d loved. Ian Carragher corrected himself honestly; grown to love. They hadn’t met in the first flush of youth and neither of them had been holding out for the romantic dream. Just as well.

They’d met in the Board room of a boarding school. Carragher smiled at the duplication then added a homophone. Bored. They’d met at a boring Governors’ meeting that he’d dashed into, late and muttering apologies, only to see Eileen Burns sitting there. Primed and ready to do a presentation on the school theatre group.

There’d been something about her prim white blouse and tight chignon that had said ‘beneath this front seethes passion just waiting to be unleashed.’ He’d been married then, happily as well, so he’d restricted his thoughts about her to his quieter moments. Then his wife had died and things changed and after some complications had been sorted, he’d asked her out. They’d bonded over their common interests, and his joy at finally finding someone just like himself. It prompted him to propose, a decision he was never to regret. Eileen had been a willing pupil who’d become his tutor many years before, and now she was gone, taken while still in relative youth. He knew he would never meet anyone like her again.

Ian Carragher drove on automatic pilot, all his thoughts of twenty years before, barely focusing on the road in front, never mind on the road behind. He parked on the industrial estate on Boucher Crescent and scanned the road for signs of the funeral parlour, clutching the certificate declaring his wife dead. He didn’t see the blow approaching but he felt his skull crack and himself fall. Then nothing, until he woke up again, in hell.

***

High Street Station

“You have a go at Warner, Annette. Liam and I tried yesterday. He’s handcuffed so you’re quite safe.”

Annette peered through the two-way glass and felt her skin crawl. There was something about Gerry Warner that made her nauseous, but she didn’t know what it was. She voiced her thoughts and Craig stared at her curiously then nodded her on to explain.

“Sometimes I get a feeling about people. An instinct, perhaps.”

Craig nodded. He’d seen it in action many times and always put it down to a people sense, developed during Annette’s years working as a nurse.

“Nursing?”

Annette shook her head, surprising him. “It’s always been there. My Mum says I had it when I was little. If I got a bad feeling about someone, apparently I would scream and run straight back to her. It always turned out that they were a bad lot. Nursing probably made it stronger.”

Animals sensed danger; perhaps what Annette felt was the same thing.

“And Warner makes you feel that way?”

“Yes. Very strongly. He makes my skin crawl.”

Craig peered through the glass at the man in the interview room. He looked like a villain, yes, but not half as tough as many they’d had in there, and nowhere nearly as dangerous as men he’d seen Annette arrest before.

“Do you feel physically threatened because he pushed you? Would you like me to go in with you?”

Annette shook her head, confused. “No. It’s not that. It’s not physical. It’s something deeper. I can’t put my finger on it.”

Jake interjected chivalrously. “If he says anything lecherous I’ll come straight in.”

She smiled at the young sergeant, controlling the urge to ruffle his hair. “That’s not it either. But thanks.” She shrugged. “It’s probably my imagination and I’ll laugh about it when I’ve finished.”

She placed her bag on the floor by Craig’s feet and left the viewing room, appearing on the other side of the glass a moment later. Annette took her seat and introduced herself professionally, running through Warner’s rights and recapping Craig’s interview from the day before. Finally she folded her hands on the table and stared Gerry Warner straight in the eye.

“Dr Warner. Could you tell me when you last saw Mrs Eileen Carragher?”

Warner said nothing, just folded his arms and stared back. Annette tried a different tack.

“We know that you had drinks with Mrs Carragher on Saturday, and we’re trying to ascertain her whereabouts between then and Monday morning. We’d be grateful for your help.”

Warner’s posture shifted imperceptibly and Jake twitched. Craig motioned him forward to the mirror.

“Watch Warner’s body language, Jake. Do you see how he’s extended his leg towards Annette under the table?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s a sexual predator. Annette can’t see him doing it but he’s trying to touch her. If he does then he’ll get a thrill from her being shocked.”

Just then Annette surprised them both by pulling her chair back slightly from the table, removing herself from Warner’s reach unless he dropped to the floor. Craig smiled. She was good. Years spent dodging male patients. He’d been right to put her in there. Warner had already revealed something about himself that he would never have shown with a man.

“You think I did it, don’t you?” Warner’s tone was oily and Craig could see his eyes roaming across Annette’s body. “You think I killed Eileen after we met for drinks, don’t you?”

Annette stared at him, unruffled. “Did you?”

Warner’s nostrils flared. “Tell me. How was she killed? Was she bound and whipped? Strangled at the end?”

Craig could see his arousal at the thought. Annette’s tone was cool.

“Is that what you like to do, Mr Warner? Hurt women?”

Warner sneered. “They enjoy it. The ultimate high.” He licked his lips. “What do you like, Inspector? No, let me guess. You’re the buttoned-up type, desperate for a real man to take control and make you scream.”

Suddenly Warner lurched across the table, his progress inhibited by his hands being cuffed behind his back. Craig felt his hand on the door handle then he stopped, as Annette’s clear tones rang through the air. She sounded perfectly in control. He peered through the glass. Annette was sitting with her arms folded, staring at Warner as if he was an insect on her shoe. She’d got his measure. This was a man who got off on women’s fear so she was playing the other card.

“You wouldn’t know how, Mr Warner. You’d need someone weaker than you to manage that, and that’s not me.” Her voice rose in volume. “Now what time did you last see Eileen Carragher on Saturday night?”

Warner didn’t move an inch and neither did Annette. Craig and Jake watched from the viewing room waiting for one of them to crack. Finally Warner did. He smiled coldly.

“Touché, Inspector. Well played.” He gazed at the clock. “When the big hand meets the little hand on nine, that’s when Eileen walked back to her car in the city centre.” He shrugged. “Where she went after that I have no idea.”

If they were to believe him then Eileen Carragher had been abducted in Belfast sometime after eight-forty-five on Saturday night. It should be easy enough to check with CCTV and traffic cams, but Craig was more intrigued by Warner’s choice of words. ‘When the big hand meets the little hand...’ It was like he was talking to a child, but then he was a teacher. Still…

Annette wrapped up the interview and Jack escorted Warner back to his cell. As she entered the viewing room Annette gave a sigh. “We can’t hold him for much longer, sir. We’ve no proof that he’s involved.”

Craig nodded. “Not in Eileen Carragher’s death, but then I never thought he was. But he’s up to his eyes in whatever got her killed, and judging by yesterday’s interview he’s afraid the same thing will happen to him.” He turned to Jake. “Charge him with Annette’s assault, Jake, that should let us hold him a bit longer.” Craig smiled kindly at her. “How are you? You handled him well.”

She shuddered. “I feel like I need a good scrub. If that man hasn’t raped someone I’d be very surprised.”

“I agree. He’s a sexual predator, no question. But you were right that he would need someone weaker than you. Does that explain your earlier feeling?”

Annette shook her head, surprising Craig again. “No. There’s something else about him. Something even grubbier than rape.”

The door knocked once and Jack Harris entered. “He’s back in his box and the kettle’s on.”

Jack had no idea why they were all grinning at him but he was about to find out.

***

Ian Carragher had been easy to kidnap, much easier than his wife. Mai had guessed that he would be, and in a way she was saddened by the fact. It would’ve been far more satisfying if Carragher had struggled, but instead he just lay there, anticipating his demise with a half-witted smile.

Carragher gazed up at the woman standing beside him, marvelling at how pretty she was. Who would ever have guessed? He glanced down at the straps restraining him and squirmed in delight, his bald scalp gleaming under the spotlight rigged above his head. He was going to die, he knew that, but at least he would enjoy the pain, unlike Eileen. Pain had always been his thing, so what better way to go? He smirked at the girl.

“Take your time. I’m in no rush.”

Mai swung her arm back and slapped him hard in the face, watching as her handprint rose on his skin. “Don’t tell me what to do, you bastard! No-one does that.”

Carragher’s face took on a submissive look. “I’m sorry, mistress.”

Mai stared down at him with contempt, and a frisson of pleasure ran down her thighs. The young man saw her reaction and quickly turned her towards him. “No.”

She shrugged his hands off, dismissively. “Why not? He’s going to die anyway. I might as well enjoy it.”

He grabbed her again, more firmly, resisting her attempts to escape. “NO! We’re better than that, Mai. Punishment and death, but no enjoyment. We agreed.”

Mai stared at him for a moment, her dark eyes on fire, then reason returned and she started to cry. She fell into his arms, sobbing. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Thank you for stopping me.”

The young man dried her eyes and stroked back her tear-soaked hair, then he kissed her gently and led her from the room. He returned a moment later and walked across to Ian Carragher, hissing into his wrinkled face.

“You’re going to die, old man, be very sure of that. But I guarantee there’ll be no pleasure in it for you.”

***

The C.C.U.

Davy leaned towards his computer screen, playing with the 3D animator until he’d created a clear outline, then he sat back and frowned. In front of him was the model of a woman, whose fingerprint size would match the one that John had found, and who wore size two-and-a-half shoes. After a moment he scratched his head, then rose and walked across the floor.

“Nicky.”

Davy gazed at the top of her purple-streaked head, waiting for a reply. None came. Instead Nicky just gazed mournfully into space. He decided to try something.

“Nicky. The boss says he’s getting married next week and w…would you like to come?”

There was no reply for a few seconds then Nicky turned towards him with a husky “what?”

“Aha. I thought that would get your attention. He’s not really getting married. I just knew it w…would make you turn round.”

She sighed heavily. “What do you want, Davy?”

Davy didn’t know whether to be hurt or concerned. He’d been Nicky’s pet since he’d joined the squad and her sudden lack of affection gave him an unexpected twinge. He turned away, hurt.

“S…Sorry to bother you.”

Nicky stared after him then rose and walked over to his desk. “I’m sorry, Davy. I’ve a lot on my mind, but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. What can I help you with?”

He smiled at her and turned his screen towards them both, gesturing at the image.

“I’ve created a 3D image of the w...woman we think was at the scene, and I just wanted to s…see what you thought.”

“OK. Shoot.”

“W…well, according to the sizing of her fingerprint and shoes, by my calculations she must be no more than five-feet tall.”

“What size were her shoes?”

“Size two-and-a-half.”

“I wear a size five and I’m five-feet-four, but so does my sister and she’s five-feet-eight. There’s a range of heights with any shoe size. Although her fingerprint does point towards the lower end.”

Davy nodded and typed in some numbers then watched as the model changed to fit.

“OK, so the programme says the tallest she could be is five-feet-two. Otherwise she would fall over with feet that size.”

“Unless you’re Barbie.”

“What?”

“Apparently if Barbie was real her dimensions would mean she’d have six-inch ankles. She’d fall over for sure.”

“And bounce back up again.”

Nicky smacked him playfully on the shoulder and smiled. “Davy Walsh. You’re not too big for a telling off. That’s all that BDSM stuff I heard you talking about earlier. It’s corrupting you.”

Davy grinned. “And we thought that you hadn’t heard.”

“I’m preoccupied, not deaf. “ She gestured towards the screen. “Anyway. Your sums are wrong.”

“How come?”

“Because unless I am deaf the chief said that her shoes had heels. That’s why Dr Winter thinks she’s more likely to be a woman and not a young girl. Mind you, some of the ten-year-olds who live down our way…”

Davy stared at Nicky and then at the screen, then he hugged her so hard that he lifted her off her feet.

“Nicky, you’re a genius!”

She blushed and pushed him away embarrassed, then warmed to her theme. Fashion was her area of expertise. “What type of heels did the shoes have?”

“No idea.”

She tutted exaggeratedly then lifted the phone and called the lab. Des Marsham answered cheerfully.

“Hello Des.”

“Ah, Nicky. Lovely to hear your dulcet tones.”