The Sea Detective (35 page)

The man and woman, husband and wife, who had thrown Cal and Basanti into the sea had been arrested and charged with attempted murder and a number of child sex offences. The police expected to charge them with Preeti’s murder in due course. They weren’t saying anything but Basanti was in protective custody and looking through the mug-shots of the country’s worst sex offenders. ‘There’ve been whispers before about children imported from countries like India or Bangladesh but we never had proof until now.’

‘Why go to all that bother? Aren’t there enough children here if you want to abuse one?’

‘It’s all about untraceability. Nobody notices a fourteen year old Bedia girl in India going missing. It happens every day, a young girl being sold into the sex trade. They’re disposable when you’re finished with them, and in this country they’re exotic with a high market value.’

Cal drew her attention to a sharp left hander. Jamieson braked but less hard than Cal wanted.

‘Think of this operation …’ she braked again as the corner turned out to be longer than she anticipated, ‘as a bespoke import business serving a market where rarity commands a premium price. The customers are paedophiles, sex tourists, the ones on the sex offenders’ register we prohibit from travelling abroad because they’ll go to Thailand or India to abuse children. So the children are brought here for them instead.

‘In this case, Preeti and Basanti were installed in underground rooms in the two cottages by the bay. The men spent a week on holiday, a weekend, even a day or two, and nobody was any the wiser. Even if the police had been watching what would they have seen? None of the men approached any children or young girls locally because they didn’t need to. They had two captive in the cottages.’

Jamieson also briefed Cal on the police search for the hill.

‘After you sent me Basanti’s drawing a helicopter went up and down the west coast taking pictures of hills with a single tree on their left sides. There were six possibilities between Oban and Stranraer. The Scottish Crime and Drug Enforcement Agency has been coordinating rotating surveillance operations at them all.

‘That headland was a favourite, though your phone call and the email you forwarded from DLG confirmed it for us. The landscape was right and so was the proximity of the bay to the cottages. As luck would have it we were at another site when Basanti went to it.

‘And we checked back. Before Preeti’s death, there had been a police operation to recover bales of cannabis washing ashore up and down the Firth of Lorn. God knows where they came from. We suspect that’s why Preeti was dumped at sea and Basanti was taken outside and left chained to the rock. When the police cars came down the road to the headland in the middle of the night the alarm went up. Our friends must have thought it was a raid on the cottages. The quickest way of getting rid of Preeti was to dump her in the sea. They didn’t have time with Basanti because the second cottage was too far back from the bay so they did what they could in the time they had.’

Now they were on the motorway and Cal was more relaxed. At least the road was straight. ‘It makes a kind of sense,’ he said, ‘to throw someone alive into the sea far enough from land, or into a strong adverse current. So many bodies sink to the bottom and don’t resurface for years if at all. If they do, they can drift for miles, sometimes thousands of miles, away from the scene, and who’s to say they didn’t just drown in an accident.’

They didn’t speak for a while until Cal said, ‘Thank you, by the way.’

‘What for?’

‘I saw the papers, about the severed feet, the way you cut Ryan out of it and let the Italians take the credit, and me.’

‘It was a pleasure.’ Jamieson beamed.

By now they’d left the motorway and were travelling through Corstorphine in West Edinburgh. A delivery lorry was edging out into the flow of traffic. Cal had seen it but Jamieson hadn’t. ‘Look out!’ he shouted and then in pent up frustration he said, ‘Just drive; please just drive.’

Neither spoke for a few minutes, though Jamieson continued to watch him. Finally, she said, ‘Look, there’s something you need to know.’ She indicated left and drove into the gates of a hotel beside the zoo. Two police cars and a taxi with its engine running were parked away from the hotel patrons’ cars. Jamieson pulled up beside them. ‘My boss wants to have a word.’

‘Detective Inspector Ryan?’

‘No, I’ve a new boss. Chief Inspector Richard Beacom.’ She paused, ‘I’ve been seconded full-time to the SCDEA, to be Basanti’s liaison officer. I worked in an Indian orphanage in my 20s, so I was given the job. Basanti’s probably one of the most important witnesses we’ve ever had. She’ll be in witness protection for years, possibly the rest of her life. Change of name, the works.’

‘Won’t Ryan mind you going to the SCDEA?’ Cal asked.

‘He’ll mind all right.’ Jamieson whooped with the joy of it.

A slight man with long, swept-back greasy blond hair, a sharp face, small mouth, stubble and a slanting frown line on his forehead approached their car. ‘That’s him, my new boss,’ Jamieson said. She lowered her voice. ‘Doesn’t look like much but wow he’s hot.’ Jamieson suddenly became flustered. ‘I didn’t mean in
that
way.’

‘Obviously,’ Cal said.

‘Yes; obviously.’ Jamieson laughed too, loudly. ‘I mean if I had I wouldn’t … well you know. And I haven’t, obviously.’

‘Obviously,’ Cal said again which irked Jamieson.

She opened her window. ‘Hello, boss’.

‘Introduce us if you would, Helen?’

He called me Helen.

Beacom, who was wearing a leather jacket, jeans and a blue shirt, opened the back door behind Jamieson and got into the car. Cal guessed he was in his late 30s.

‘Boss this is Cal McGill. Cal, Chief Inspector Richard Beacom.’

The Chief Inspector leaned over offering Cal his hand. ‘It’s Richard by the way.’

His accent was Glasgow private school.

Cal nodded.

‘There’s something we’d like you to do,’ Beacom said, ‘if you feel up to it.’

Cal looked at Jamieson. ‘It’s your choice,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it sir?’

‘Yes.’

‘What is it?’

Beacom said, ‘The guys who run this child trafficking racket are trying to close things down. An address in Glasgow was firebombed last night – we think it’s where Basanti was held. We’ve had reports of some of Basanti’s clients – if I can call them that – being beaten up, baseball bats, razors, you name it, to stop them saving their own skins and blabbing if and when we bring them in. A couple of them are in hospital too scared to talk. The frighteners are going on. They’re doing what they can to slam the door on us.’

Just in case Cal needed it spelled out, Beacom said, ‘It’s big. Child trafficking and sex abuse on an industrial scale. We need to get these bastards. Fast.’

He took a cigarette pack out of his jacket pocket and offered it to Cal. ‘Do we share a bad habit?’

Cal declined.

‘You don’t mind do you Helen?’

‘No Sir.’

Yes sir, but not if you call me Helen.

Cal said, ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘There’s a chance …’ Beacom elongated the word and spread his lips into a grimace to signal how small a chance it was, ‘they don’t know what we’ve got. We’ve told the media a seventeen year old female is missing, feared drowned. But we haven’t said anything about you or about the two arrests we’ve made. We’re assuming they know we’ve got their people from the headland, which is why they’re taking precautions, but we’re not sure they know you’re with us. We don’t even know if they’re aware you were with Basanti in Argyll.’

He paused. ‘Do you follow?’

Cal said, ‘Yes.’

‘Let’s say they think their guys disposed of Basanti before they were arrested. Let’s say they believe she’s dead. So that leaves you as Basanti’s only contact on the outside. They’ll worry that she gave you dates, descriptions, whatever. They’ll want to eliminate that possibility.’

‘You mean eliminate me?’

‘These guys are desperate …’

‘But if they don’t know I was in Argyll why would they think I know Basanti at all? Why would they make a connection?’

Beacom glanced at Jamieson.

She said, ‘Shall I, sir?’

He nodded.

‘They were waiting for her at your flat.’

‘When?’

‘When she left it on her way to the bus station to go to Argyll. They were staking out The Cask. They almost got her too. If she hadn’t taken one of your kitchen knives she’d be dead by now.’

‘But nobody knew she was staying there,’ Cal protested, ‘apart from you.’

Jamieson ignored Cal’s implication. ‘And they were waiting for her at Kilninver. She walked into a trap. She’s sure of it. They were expecting her.’

‘But I didn’t even know about Kilninver until she’d gone there?’

Jamieson glanced at Beacom who shook his head. The gesture said lead him there, let him discover the answer for himself, let him realise the mistake he made.

‘Who else did you tell about her drawing of the hill?’ Jamieson said.

‘I emailed the Omoo crowd.’

Jamieson nodded, encouraging him along that line of thought.

‘No way.’

‘We think so. Whoever it was would have known as soon as they saw Basanti’s drawing. He’d have known she’d been in touch with you.’

Cal put his head in his hands. ‘Shit. And when DLG sent the email identifying the drawing they’d have seen that too. His email was copied to everyone in Omoo.’

‘Do you know who it might be?’ Beacom asked.

Cal shook his head.

‘Basanti will get us the guys who abused her,’ Beacom said. ‘And maybe they’ll lead us to other kids like her, though if we don’t get to them soon we’ll be pulling more dead bodies out of the sea. But Basanti never saw the faces of the guys who ran the show. We need to get to them a different way.’

Beacom leaned forward. ‘Let me put a proposition to you …’

‘Ok.’

‘You’re not exactly flavour of the month with people like me are you?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘How can I put this … the police have a few issues with you, trampling over ministers’ gardens, assisting the Italians with the severed feet inquiry, breaking into museums. Do you think that’s fair?

‘I guess.’

‘If the guys we’re after didn’t know you were in Argyll, they’d think you were pretty high up the police grudge list. Which means they might not be expecting you to have protection. Which also means they might come for you if they think you’re alone.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

They spoke for another half an hour. Beacom was meticulous in his briefing, checking at every stage that Cal understood what was expected of him and the various contingencies for which the police had prepared: all of them as far as Cal could tell. ‘Any further questions?’ Beacom asked at the end.

Cal shook his head.

‘Do what we’ve outlined and you’ll be fine.’ Beacom offered Cal his hand again. ‘Good luck.’

Jamieson accompanied Cal to the taxi. ‘You ok?’ she said.

‘Yeah. ‘

But there was something different about him. ‘You sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure.’

In case Cal still wasn’t convinced about the Omoo link, she said, ‘It gave whoever we’re after a perfect cover for sussing out remote sites for bringing trafficked children ashore, and for identifying isolated cottages. Whoever it is in the Omoo group might not be a ring-leader; he might only be a gofer but we need to find him. Ok?’

‘Ok.’

She opened the taxi door. ‘Be careful,’ she said. ‘They may be watching your flat. We don’t think so, but it’s possible. Stick to the plan and you’ll be fine.’

Cal didn’t reply.

Jamieson said to the driver, ‘You know where you’re going?’

‘The Cask, in Granton.’

When the taxi was leaving the car park Cal realised he had no money for the fare. ‘I’ve got no cash.’

‘Don’t worry mate. I’m not a cabbie. I’m a cop.’ The driver pulled a face at Cal in his rear view mirror. ‘So no tip then …’

Cal wrote the email as Chief Inspector Beacom instructed.

Hi Everyone,

I’m home again, bruised and a bit battered after recent events. I assume you’ve read about them so I guess elaboration isn’t necessary. Give me a few days to sort myself and I’ll be back in action, relying on you guys for occasional assistance, as ever.

Cal

He read it through and clicked send.

He remained sitting at his computer looking at the twelve addresses of his Omoo contacts to which it had been dispatched. Which of them would it be?

DLG was the first to reply. ‘Good to hear from you. Be in touch soon, all right?’

He wondered about the significance of DLG making no mention of Basanti’s drawing of the hill and the tree. Did it signify something or nothing? Perhaps he didn’t want to bother him with it so soon after his release from police custody.

Zeke was next. ‘Welcome back. Take it easy now. Be good.’

Shorty was after him. ‘What a tragedy about your grandfather. He’d be proud of you. I will light a candle and pray for him – and you.’ Cal registered that Shorty was religious.

He ruled out Shorty.

And Zeke.

Zeke was in his 70s. He was infirm and hadn’t been on an Omoo expedition to the west coast or the islands for many years.

What about the others? Cal knew little to nothing about them, except their Omoo names. He hadn’t met them, didn’t know who they were or what they did.

He waited at his computer for another reply. No more came. After a while, he wrote three emails. One was to Basanti; one to his father; the last, the longest, was to Rachel. After checking them and making corrections, he saved them into his drafts folder and wrote to Bembo. ‘In case this goes pear-shaped please forward the three emails in Gmail drafts. Thank you. It was good knowing you. Look after Basanti won’t you?’

He checked the signal of his mobile. Four bars. It reassured him. Now he had to wait for Jamieson’s call.

While he killed time, he did as the Chief Inspector instructed.

He went to the window and stood there looking across the waste ground to the ruins of the old flour mill 200 metres away. He glanced down at the street. A bus was passing. He turned away.