The Slowest Cut (16 page)

They scrolled slowly through the images until suddenly Craig shocked them with a loud yell.

“That’s it, there!” He jabbed his finger hard against Davy’s screen. “There. Print it out for me.”

Annette squinted at the small screen image, then again at the larger print one. It was a boiler room on the lower ground floor. Craig punched the air. There was no mistake. It was definitely where the video had been shot. They hadn’t renovated the school boiler-rooms when it had become a hotel.

Craig’s triumph was short-lived and he slumped abruptly onto a chair, staring into space. Annette’s face said that they were thinking the same thing. If the video had been shot in a school then how many more children had been abused?

***

Newcastle, County Down. 11.30 a.m.

By the time they arrived in Newcastle Liam had munched his way through one punnet of strawberries and was eyeing the other one hungrily. Jake reproached him in a solemn voice.

“Didn’t your wife specifically ask you to get those for the children? What’s she going to say if you arrive home with none?”

Liam shot him a grumpy look then stared guiltily at his stained hands. He hit back with skewed logic.

“I can get some more on the way back, or there’s a supermarket near our street, they’ll sell them as well. She’ll never know the difference.”

“Those are wild strawberries.” Jake pursed his lips trying hard not to laugh, and piled on more guilt. His next words were said in a tone that Liam hadn’t heard since he’d been an altar boy. “God will know.”

Liam stared at Jake to see if he was really being religious or just taking the piss. Then he hit his arm a playful thump.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For pretending to be a holy roller and making me feel like I was back at school.”

But the guilt had worked. Liam waved goodbye to the second punnet and glanced down at the map.

“Up here on the right. Next turn.”

Half-a-minute later they were in a twig-covered lane lined with leafless trees. In front of them lay a steep road leading to a large wooden fascia-ed house. It had a flat front and a glossy front door. Jake pulled the car to a halt and stared at it admiringly.

“Very nice. That’s based on a Georgian design. It looks like some of the houses you see in Dublin, or the wooden versions in some parts of the States.”

“Thank you. Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen. Right. This is it. Let’s see who’s behind that door.”

Two minutes of door-knocking and window-peering later they had their answer. No-one was behind it, not unless they were stone deaf. No-one else could possibly have ignored Liam’s yells. The house was empty and when Liam stopped yelling the silence that fell was oppressive. He’d called Ryan Carragher to say they were doing the search and he hadn’t said a word, so Liam doubted that they’d find anything hinky, but he was impatient all the same.

He shuddered suddenly. “I don’t like this place. Reminds me too much of the Adams’ case.”

The Adams and their daughters had lived in a house not dissimilar to the one in front of them, before the father had hanged himself and the wife had murdered three people before killing herself.

Jake glanced at him curiously and Liam shook his head.

“Too sad and before your time. Ask the boss.”

Liam pulled the crumpled search warrant from his pocket and lifted the car radio, connecting with the local station. One minute later Uniform were on their way. He strode across to a ground-floor window and scrutinised it, expertly assessing its lock. Uniform would bring an Enforcer to break down the front door, but if he was right they could get inside with a lot less damage, and save the State a hefty bill.

He knew they should wait for back-up but his impatience won. Liam lifted a sharp chisel from the car’s boot and slid it expertly between the window’s wooden frames, popping the lock. He slid the bottom frame upwards and beckoned Jake across.

“In you go, lad.”

Jake looked at the window then at his designer suit and shook his head. “No way. This is new.”

Liam scanned Jake’s suit ruefully and sighed “Then more fool you for wearing it to work. You’ll learn. In you go anyway, because if I try to get through that gap I’ll be picking splinters out of my ass for weeks.”

Jake folded his arms stubbornly. “Let’s wait for Uniform.”

Liam propelled him towards the window. “And let them steal our search! What sort of a detective are you?”

Ten seconds later Jake was lying on the carpeted floor of what looked like the house’s dining-room, thankful that he’d had a soft landing. He picked himself up and brushed down his suit, then scanned the room with an expert eye. It held a mahogany dining-table and a matching side-board with a silver serving dish set on one side. The Carraghers lived well. Jake’s daydream was rudely interrupted by Liam’s yell.

“Well, don’t just stand there like a bump on a log. Go and open the front door for me.”

Jake did as he was told, throwing a question at Liam as soon as he entered the house’s parquet-floored hall.

“What was the fricking hurry?”

Liam gazed down at the younger man and shook his head dolefully. Young peelers nowadays. They knew nothing.

“Here’s the thing, lad. There’s them; Uniform, and us; The Suits. Now, most of the time we walk through life hand in hand picking roses, except at a crime-scene. At a scene you have to establish who’s top-dog, stat, otherwise all sorts of terrible things might happen.”

“Like what?” Jake tried to make his question sound less sceptical than he felt.

Liam’s eyes widened as if he was picturing Armageddon. “They might find something first, then we’d never hear the end of it. Or they might mess up our forensics, or worse.”

“Worse than messing up the forensics?”

Liam nodded solemnly. “They might eat all the biscuits.” He guffawed loudly. “I’m only joking lad. It’s just an old tradition. It’s our scene and we invite them in, not the other way round. Not that they’d agree of course.” He started walking down the hall. “Now stop standing there and come on. I want to be through this house before they arrive.”

They moved quickly from room to room, scanning each one from the doorway, to avoid annoying the C.S.I.s. There was nothing obvious to see and any cupboards could be searched when Uniform arrived. It was just a well-appointed residence. Nothing to hint at Eileen Carragher’s kinks.

Five minutes later they’d been through the whole place and Liam had disappeared. Jake was about to search for him when he noticed a low oak door positioned discretely in an alcove in the hall. It looked so innocuous that at first he thought it was a storage cupboard. He pulled it open, expecting to find kitchen rolls and tablecloths, but instead he found a hollow darkness that indicated something beyond.

Jake flicked the switch outside the door and a light came on, illuminating a steep flight of steps leading down. He went to look for Liam and found him in the garden, staring at the house’s rear. Liam’s face was screwed up in puzzlement.

“What’s wrong?”

Liam shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure yet, lad. Just… something feels wrong.”

“I’ve found some stairs leading down from the hall. There’s definitely a basement.”

Liam waved him ahead, still looking perplexed. “Lead on MacDuff.”

Jake nipped to the car and grabbed a flash-light then they walked back together to the small door.

“Boyso, that was well tucked away. You wouldn’t see it unless you were looking very hard.”

Jake nodded. “It was probably for servants when the house was first built. Shall I go first?”

“Up to you, lad. But watch your step and switch the torch on. Even with the light it looks to be a dingy place.”

Jake flicked on the flash-light and stepped gingerly onto the top step. He could see that it was bare stone, but what he couldn’t see was the film of grease that covered it. Jake’s foot slipped away from under him and he dropped the torch, then he started to fall head-first down the stone steps. His descent was halted immediately just as he heard a loud ripping noise; Liam had caught his jacket. Liam yanked him firmly backwards and Jake fell hard against him, knocking them both to the floor.

After a moment’s recovery Jake clambered to his feet. “God, thanks, Liam. I’d have been a goner if you hadn’t been here.”

Liam stared up at him, trying to find a breath. “You’re heavier than you look, lad. You fair winded me.” He stood up slowly and brushed himself down. “What made you lose your footing?”

Jake beckoned Liam over and shone the flash-light on the top step then he reached down with a finger and rubbed it. The step was covered in thick oil.

“It’s a booby trap, Liam. Those steps are concrete. If you hadn’t been here I’d have broken my neck.” He glanced balefully at his torn jacket and then smiled. It was a small price to pay for his life.

Liam grinned, not at Jake’s thanks but at what it all meant. “No-one sets a booby-trap unless they’ve something they want to hide. There’s something nasty down there, lad, and it fits with what I was looking at outside.”

Liam headed back to the garden with Jake in tow and he pointed at a faint stone outline on the ground. It marked out a long rectangle extending at least five hundred metres in one direction, and off into the trees width-wise for three.

Jake stared at it curiously. “What is it?”

“It’s an underground building, that’s what it is. I saw one once on my Granny’s farm. It was huge inside, like a small village. They used it as an air-raid shelter during World War Two, then for storing fruit and curing meat. But I’ll bet you a fiver there’s no fruit in this one.”

The hairs on Jake’s neck stood on end and he shivered in the cool country air. As they waited in silence for Uniform to arrive, Liam stared grimly at the ground, trying hard not to imagine what they were going to find beneath the earth.

Chapter Eighteen

2 p.m.

Craig stared at his mobile, willing it to ring. There was no word yet from Liam and Jake and he was desperate to hear what they’d found, but he was loathe to call them and breathe down their necks. This was what delegation was about, much as it pained him to let go of the reins even for five minutes. He turned over the last page of a file Nicky had left for him to sign and tapped its cardboard cover restlessly. Nicky hadn’t so much left it for him, as hurled it on his desk before lunch then marched defiantly out of the office without a backward glance. He didn’t mind her mood; he minded what might be causing it. She’d stubbornly refused to discuss it, so now desperate measures were required.

He strode to the door of his office and called Annette in, ignoring the hostile vibes emanating from Nicky’s desk. Annette bustled across the floor and took a seat on Craig’s nod, then he closed his office door firmly on Nicky’s ever-listening ear.

“Coffee or Tea, Annette?”

“Tea please, sir. If I have any more coffee my jaw will lock.”

As Craig made it she started talking, about the case in general and the hotel in particular. “Did you want me to go there and take a look? My witness has nearly finished his sketches, so I could drop him home then pop down.”

Craig shook his head. “It’s not going anywhere and Davy’s still trying to find out exactly why the school closed. We’ll get to it later, then I’ll send in the C.S.I.s. To be honest I’m more interested in your sketches and the Carragher’s sons, plus whatever Davy’s computer-aging comes up with.”

He handed her the cup and placed a packet of biscuits on the desk. After a few sips of his coffee Craig sighed and set his mug down. “Actually, Annette, I didn’t call you in about the case.”

She glanced at him, concerned. “Are you OK? That video sounded bad.”

Craig realised what she was thinking and smiled at her kindness. “Yes, I’m fine thanks. It’s not about me.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “Not Liam?”

As he shook his head and said, “everyone’s OK,” Craig smiled at her immediate concern for her rival. She and Liam had jockeyed for position on the squad for years, always keeping score. But if it ever came to it he knew that they would die for each other. He fervently hoped that it never did.

He leaned forward and dropped his voice, as if the walls had ears. They both knew that they had, and they were Nicky’s. Craig normally didn’t mind her eavesdropping. All she heard was boring stuff about work and general intelligence, and it was part of a good P.A’s job to keep abreast. If he had a really private call to make, he walked down to the river and made it there. But he didn’t want Nicky to eavesdrop today, because the topic of conversation was her.

“Annette. There’s something badly wrong with Nicky and she won’t tell me what it is.”

Annette nodded. She’d noticed it a few days before. A lack of smiles when Nicky was usually so cheerful. A lack of banter when Liam tried to wind her up. And a lot of attitude and frowning, making her look miserable and warning anyone with any sense to stay away. She thought she’d seen Nicky’s eyes red today at lunchtime, as if she’d been crying, but when she’d asked her the question it had been answered with silence and Nicky walking away.

“You’re right, sir. I’ve been seeing the signs for days.” She folded her hands firmly on top of the desk and spoke in a decisive voice. “What would you like me to do?”

Craig smiled. It was like an episode of ‘Mission Impossible’. ‘Your mission, Annette, should you decide to accept it.’ All that was missing was the tape self-destructing.

“Thanks. I knew you would help. She won’t tell me what’s bothering her.”

Annette interrupted. “She won’t tell me either. I’ve been asking her all week.”

Craig nodded. He’d known that it wasn’t going to be simple.

“You don’t have to do this, Annette, and say no if you’d rather not. But would you mind going to see Gary and trying to find out what’s wrong?” He sipped at his coffee and looked suddenly embarrassed. “I’m really fond of Nicky and I hate to see her unhappy. If there’s something I can help with, then I’d like to.”

Annette nodded firmly. “I’ll do it. Mainly because I like her too, but also because if the quality of her coffee gets any worse this week, I’ll have to start using the vending machine, and I draw the line at that.”

They laughed for a moment and then Craig scribbled down a list of things that he thought it might be. He trusted Annette’s diplomacy to take it from there.

***

Newcastle. 2.30 p.m.

Jake watched as the uniformed-officers sprayed something on the basement steps, waited for a moment and then washed the oil away. Two minutes later the steps were safe to walk on and Liam led the way into hell.

Liam already knew that’s what they were going to find, from the booby-trapped stairs and the underground building’s outline. But he felt it as well, on some visceral level. He didn’t hold much with ‘sensing’ things, preferring to call his gut reactions ‘hunches’ or copper’s nose, but he was sensing things now all right and all of them bad.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs Liam saw that the dingy ceiling light was never going to be enough. They needed to see their way clearly; if there’d been one booby trap there could be plenty more.

He yelled back over his shoulder. “Get that lighting cable down here and send out for more if you have to. We’ll need enough for about ten rooms.”

He knew the number because the walls and sub-walls of the subterranean structure had been clearly demarcated above. Inside the thick concrete outer walls there’d been a long corridor with small rooms off either side. The walls were thick, so he already knew they were probably sound-proof, and the lack of daylight wouldn’t have made them pleasant places to be. At the end of the corridor there was a larger room that ran the structure’s full width. Liam somehow doubted that it was a Jacuzzi.

He sent up a prayer that he was wrong in what he was thinking. That his imagination was working overtime, and the whole place would turn out to be a storage facility for furniture or wine. But the oil slick on the stairs said that it wasn’t likely.

Once the corridor was well lit Liam signalled Jake to follow him, motioning Uniform to stay behind and search the house. He carried a high-beam lamp with him as he walked, swinging it from side to side to see where they were. They were in a narrow hallway with walls of bare stone, like a cellar. Each block was chiselled, as if it had been hewn from the ground. Jake touched one and recoiled. It was icy cold and water glistened on its surface like a clammy sweat.

The ceilings were so low that even the five-feet-eight Jake had to hunch and Liam was almost doubled in two. As Liam lit the way Jake saw something on the corridor’s floor that made him freeze. Liam was several feet further on before he noticed that Jake had stopped. He motioned him to keep walking then saw that Jake’s eyes were focused on a small doorway that he’d missed.

Liam walked back and stared at it. It was made of steel with two slots cut away, one at eye-height and the other near the ground. He recognised their purpose immediately. The top slot was for viewing and the other was for food. They were in a prison!

But it wasn’t the door that had made Jake freeze. His eyes were focused further down. Liam shone the light at floor level and saw what had caught Jake’s attention. He shuddered violently. Jake pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and for a moment Liam thought he was going to disturb the scene, but the sudden sound of retching said it had been for a different use. Liam knew how he felt; his worse fears had just been confirmed.

Wedged between the door and the wall was a child’s doll. Its face was grubby and its dress was torn, but that wasn’t the worst thing. The worst was that Liam recognised it as one he’d bought for his toddler daughter at Christmas. It was the latest thing for little girls and there had been a waiting list. The doll hadn’t been abandoned there years ago, discarded by a generation gone by. It had been left there in the past few weeks.

Jake forced the words out. “That doll was new. My niece got one for her birthday.” He paused and then said what they both already knew. “The Carraghers had no grandchildren.”

Liam said nothing as he turned ahead again; not wanting to look behind the door until he knew the scale of what they faced. He stormed down the corridor with Jake trailing in his wake, scanning the floor for more signs of whoever had been here last. The place was a maze; the walls they’d seen above hadn’t given a true indication of the number of rooms inside. Off anterooms and conduits there were smaller, inner doors. Each time they thought they’d reached the last, another one appeared in the gloom.

Liam stormed past them all, desperate to reach the last. On and on, their nostrils filling with the stench of damp, and more, until finally a door appeared ahead of them, truncating the corridor and signalling that their journey was at an end. Liam swung the lamp high, scrutinising the door. It had no hatch or peep-hole; this room was different. He turned to Jake with a solemn look.

“This isn’t going to be pretty, lad. There’s no shame in you turning back.”

Jake peered at him in the gloom and Liam could see his cheeks were stained with tears. He shook his head and Liam understood. They both had to see what was in there, although what they saw might live with them for the rest of their lives.

Liam placed his latex-gloved hand on the handle and pushed the door inwards as he did. The room was ink-black. Nothing moved; not Liam and not Jake, not even their chests to take a breath. Liam lifted his hand slowly, holding the lamp at arm’s length until the centre of the room was lit, although the corners stayed dark. The ceiling was high and suddenly he could stand at full height. Liam’s heart sank at what that meant. Adults spent time in here.

The room was large and cold and their breaths, when they took them, misted in the air. They could feel the damp washing over them, seeping into their bones and covering them in filth. This was how evil felt, and how it looked. Draped on the longest wall, hanging shining against the stone, were instruments that Liam had never seen before, but he would never forget again. Sharp knives and chisels, chains and spikes arranged in rows for size, the tiniest looking as if it would fit a doll. Whips with razor tips along their lashes, leaving nothing to imagine about the pain they could inflict.

Liam closed his eyes for a moment to shut out the images and he felt the urge to retch. He pushed it down hard, allowing the cold air to slow his pulse, until he felt his nausea ebb away and he opened his eyes again. Still standing in the doorway he swung the lamp first one way and then the other, casting the light into each corner. What they saw there made both men gasp. Discarded in one corner was a pile of toys, thrown there haphazardly as if left by children overnight, except Liam knew that their owners would never retrieve them.

In another corner lay a pile of rags, bloodied and torn. Liam squinted through the light and saw a tiny foot, filthy and bruised but human nonetheless. He strode over and knelt down beside it, already knowing that the child was dead. He knew that he shouldn’t touch them, but he couldn’t not. Liam reached forward gently and smoothed the child’s hair back from his face, tears running openly down his cheeks.

It was a little boy no older than eight and he was smiling, as if he was at peace. He probably was, for the first time in God knew when. Liam felt for a pulse, already knowing that it was a thankless task. The boy was cold, too cold for them to ever warm him up. Liam sat back on his hunkers and wiped his eyes, as Jake spoke the first words since they’d descended the stairs.

“Liam… Sir. We need to look in all the rooms, in case there’s someone still alive.”

Liam gazed up at him blankly; as if he was a million miles away, then after a moment he nodded and rose to his feet. He stared at the boy and Jake knew that Liam wanted to lift him and carry him into the sun, but he couldn’t. If they were going to catch whoever had done this, the C.S.I.s had to do their work.

They searched the rest of the room in silence, trying not to stare at the bloodied walls and the human bones scattered randomly on the floor. Then they walked back into the hallway moving from room to room. Halfway down the corridor Jake halted abruptly outside a door.

“Did you hear that?”

Liam listened then shook his head, motioning Jake on. Jake stayed where he was and listened again. To their right was a small door, slightly different from the rest. Instead of two slots being cut into it, it had a normal lock. A faint light was flickering from underneath. Jake pointed to it and Liam’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

“How did I miss that?”

“We both did.” Jake held his finger to his mouth, signalling silence, and listened again. Finally he nodded. “There’s definitely something moving behind that door.”

Liam’s free hand went to his Glock and he nodded Jake to open the door wide. He slipped off the safety, ready to shoot, but he didn’t need it. Inside the room, hunched in a corner, was a boy of around four-year’s old. He was half-starved, filthy and barely dressed, but he was alive. Liam would have yelled in victory if he hadn’t been afraid that he would scare the child to death. He rushed in then saw the boy cower and realised the sight of a six-feet-six man probably wasn’t the most welcome thing.

He beckoned Jake in. “Here, you look a bit friendlier than me, lad. Talk to him.”

Jake entered slowly and hunkered down three-feet from the child, watching as he scanned him for signs if he was friend or foe. Something about Jake’s open-faced blondeness must have said friend, because the boy finally stared into his eyes, holding his gaze. After a moment Jake spoke.

“My name’s Jake.” He gestured towards Liam. “And this is Liam.” The boys gaze shifted to Liam then quickly back to Jake. “What’s your name?”

The boy looked blankly at him as if he didn’t know and Liam shook his head. God only knew how long he’d been down there. He might have forgotten his name, if he’d ever known it. Jake held out his hand and then realised the boy’s feet were ripped to shreds. Liam interjected.