The Slowest Cut (20 page)

The VAT man spoke again, with an amused tone in his voice. “Very well, Mrs McElroy. You may tell Mr Craig that his secret is safe with us. We will imply, imply mind you, not say, that we made an error with the bill. I’ll phone Mrs Morris now with the news. But I will meet with her husband personally to go through the books and point out how to avoid such a mess again.”

He paused, and for a moment Annette thought Mrs Stolid was coming back on the line, but it was still her boss. The man chuckled again. “I must say, this is the most unusual request I’ve ever had. It’s quite made my week. Goodbye.”

Annette bade him goodbye and hung up the phone, congratulating herself on not saying “you need to get out more’. Then she gathered her notes for quite a different conversation and went to the relatives’ room to wait for Ryan Carragher to appear.

***

The Red Kite Restaurant, Belfast.

Liam pushed open the heavy glass door and led the way into the Red Kite’s interior, expecting to hear the sound of flowing water, reminiscent of Chinese restaurants from his youth. His nostalgia dissipated abruptly as he looked around. The spacious restaurant was painted white and gold, with red kite stencils covering one wall and a T-shirt bearing the restaurant’s logo displayed on another. Black-wood tables and a similarly coloured floor completed a décor that was bang up-to-date. The nose stud of the young waitress who approached them underlined it.

Jake smiled at the modern interior and made a note to come back with his partner, Aaron. Then he took out his badge. The girl looked startled and he rushed to reassure her.

“Sorry. We were just hoping you could answer a few questions for us. About some of your customers.”

She smiled, relieved and then pointed them towards a table in the corner. Liam half expected her to bow but instead she said in a clear Belfast voice. “Hang on here and I‘ll get my Dad.”

Before Liam had time to be politically incorrect a man younger than himself appeared, extending his hand.

“Good day officers. I’m James Wong. What can I do for you?”

He sat opposite Liam and smiled pleasantly, as Jake removed the images from a folder and set them face-down on the tablecloth.

“Aye, well. We’ve a few questions to ask about your customers, Mr Wong. But first, could you take a look at these pictures and see if there’s anyone you might know.”

Jake turned over the sketch of the girl and Liam watched the restaurateur carefully as he ran his eyes down the page. He screwed-up his face in puzzlement then after a few seconds he shook his head.

“I thought I knew her, but it’s not the same girl.”

“Who did you think it was?”

“A girl who used to come in here a long time ago, when I was a young man.” He smiled. “I noticed her because she was pretty.”

Liam leaned forward, knowing that there was something more. “Did she come in on her own?”

Wong shook his head. “No, always with two boys. One very little and one so high.” He indicated a boy somewhere in his teens. “Sometimes an old man came with them.” He laughed. “I thought he was old, but now I think he was probably the age that I am now.”

Jake asked the next question quickly, before Liam ended them up with a complaint. “Were they all Chinese, Mr Wong?”

Wong shook his head again. “No, only the girl. The others were white, like you.”

Ian Carragher and his sons? But the woman with them was too old to be their mystery girl.

Liam waved Jake on, knowing he was doing them both a favour by not letting him speak. Jake turned over the second page; the sketch of the young man.

“Do you recognise him, Mr Wong?”

Just then his daughter reappeared with a pot of tea. She set it down and then stared closely at the two sheets.

“I know them.”

Liam turned to her quickly. “Which one?”

“Both. I don’t know their names, but they’ve been in here together several times. Mostly at the weekends.”

Jake interjected eagerly. “You’re sure it’s this girl? Please look closely.”

The girl leaned in and then nodded. “Definitely. She’s mixed race; Chinese and white. He’s white. They’re a couple. Very lovey-dovey.”

The man who’d bought the knives was white and the girl was his lover. So who was the woman that James Wong had seen years before?

Jake’s voice was eager. “Did they ever pay by credit card? Or did you overhear anything they said? A name, maybe?”

The girl shook her head. “No. Always cash.” She smiled. “With a big tip.” She hesitated. “I didn’t hear their names but… He did call her something once, but I thought it was a joke.”

“What was it?”

“Miss Whiplash.”

***

Craig wandered onto the seventh floor and knocked Aidan Hughes’ door, relieved to find that the murder team weren’t the only sad gits working on a Saturday. Hughes yanked the door open, looking unfeasibly cheerful for a man who had to deal with perverts all day. The personality was probably a job requirement; either that or he was on the happy pills.

“Hey, Marc. How’s it going?”

He waved Craig in, not waiting for a reply, and continued talking. “I heard about Liam’s find in Newcastle. Quite the coup. I can’t wait to see it. I’m off down there Monday.”

“It was grim.”

“Grim, maybe, but fascinating never the less. I’m going to ask if I can write my thesis on it.”

Craig screwed up his face. Hughes was starting his doctorate in criminology; he could think of nicer topics to research for the next three years. He changed the subject.

“What’s happening with the house party? I went down to see the girl this morning.”

“And? Anything new?”

Craig nodded. “She recognised the Carraghers’ faces. And not in a good way.”

Hughes long face lit up. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. I had to leave it at the I.D. She was too distressed to go on. Davy’s working with the Gendarmes to see if we can find her folks.” He paused, shaking his head quietly. “You know Liam and Jake found a boy still alive in that hell-hole?”

Hughes’ jaw dropped. “No! I hadn’t heard. Has anyone talked to him, yet?”

Craig knew Aidan was thinking of what he could learn from being there when they did. It was ghoulish but he couldn’t blame him. He spent his days talking to murderers and found their motivations fascinating, what Aidan dealt was just another type of scum. Craig shuddered. He still couldn’t do Aidan’s job. One video had been enough.

“The boy hasn’t said a word yet. Liam’s leading on it with the locals so I’ll get him to keep you in the loop.” Craig repeated his original question. “So what about the house party?”

Hughes grinned. “You know we got the organiser. It was definitely the architect who owns the house; Edgar Tate. Turns out he was the one dressed as a gimp. We didn’t recognise him until he took off his mask at the station.”

“And?”

“God, you want blood, don’t you? OK. He has a big design practice in the centre of town. Very successful.”

“And wealthy, judging by the house. Is there a Mrs Gimp?”

Hughes guffawed. “There is indeed. But she and the kids were on holiday at her mother’s when the party kicked off. Swears she knew nothing about her hubby’s other life.”

“True or false?”

“True, I think, judging by the speed she filed for divorce this week when she found out about the party.” Hughes perched on the desk facing Craig and his face darkened. “I know what you’re going to ask, Marc. Does anyone own up to knowing anything about the Aurelie?”

“Well, do they? She didn’t get there by herself and someone caused those bruises.”

“And the rest.”

The words hung in the air between them, neither man wanting to discuss what else the girl had been through. Craig asked the question again and Aidan shook his head.

“They’re all giving us the same story. It was a BDSM house party arranged for consenting adults. Nothing illegal occurred.”

Craig’s face contorted in anger. “Tell that to the eleven-year-old crying her eyes out.” He clenched his fists and headed for the door. Hughes blocked his way with his hands raised in peace.

“Wow! I remember that temper from the rugby field. You control it better nowadays, I’ll give you that much.”

Craig stared at him, then realised how ridiculous he must look, standing there with whitened fists. He gave a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, Aidan. It’s not your fault, I know. It’s just…if you’d seen Aurelie today…”

“I know. I see them every day, remember. But hey, there’s a bit of good news as well. Turns out Tate didn’t have the wit to use cloakroom tickets.”

Craig shot him a puzzled look. “For what?”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you elegant boys in Murder don’t lower yourselves that way.”

He waved Craig back to his seat and reached into a desk drawer, pulling out a book of raffle tickets.

“Most parties where they have hookers, they give the punters tickets to hand over in exchange for services rendered, so that no money changes hands. Tate wasn’t that smart, he let the hookers get paid in cash. That’s an offence.”

“Yes!” Craig punched the air. “I want in on his interview.”

“Sure. It’s on Monday. Couldn’t do it before then, he got himself a good brief.”

“I don’t care if he’s got himself Clarence Darrow. It still won’t be enough.”

***

Craig whistled his way the one flight up to the relatives’ room. He stopped whistling at the end of the corridor and rang Annette.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m at the end of the corridor. Can you come and meet me?”

Five seconds later the room’s door opened and Annette stepped outside and joined him.

“Is Ryan Carragher here yet?”

“Yes. He arrived ten minutes ago.”

“Good. He can cope on his own for a moment. Follow me.”

He led the way into the main floor coffee area and poured them both a cup.

“You’re looking enigmatic, Annette. Something interesting?”

Annette smiled proudly and pulled out his credit card. “I managed to get it done today. I paid the VAT and the supervisor said he’ll cover it up, but he’ll go and meet with Gary anyway and help him get the returns right in future.”

Craig slipped his card into his pocket and smiled. “Excellent. But actually, that wasn’t what I meant. I was referring to Carragher.”

“Ah…Well, he seems genuinely upset about his parents. If he knows anything about the life they led, he’s giving nothing away.”

“OK. I’ll have a go and see if anything shows. Before we go in I want to update you.” He brought Annette up to speed on Aurelie and the house party, adding. “Liam’s going to be busy with the Newcastle side, so would you like in interview Edgar Tate with Aidan and me on Monday? He’s stonewalling so far.”

She sat forward, excited. “I’d love to. If Aurelie I.D.ed the Carraghers, the next thing is to see if she recognises Tate from the party, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “And the house in Newcastle. But she’s very fragile, so I want to take it one step at a time. After we see Tate we’ll know if we need to arrange a line-up.”

“We might not get him on the prostitution angle, but maybe on child endangerment, sir? She was a minor in his house during an orgy. That might open a few doors?”

Craig’s face lit up. It might indeed. “Excellent. Speak to the child protection team and see what grounds you can find. I want everything watertight before Tate’s interview.”

“By the way, sir, I chased up the anonymous call to the education board, tipping them off about Marcheson’s, but I’ve hit a dead end. There were only three female teachers there in 2004; one’s dead and the other two are denying knowing anything.”

Craig shrugged. It was just a loose end and once everything unravelled it wouldn’t even be that. “OK, thanks for trying. Let Davy know, please” He stood up and drained his cup. “Right. Now let’s see how innocent Ryan Carragher really is.”

***

Liam held up the coloured rattle and waved it at his fourteen-month-old son. He watched as he stretched for it and then giggled as Liam moved it playfully beyond his reach. Rory’s laughter soon turned to annoyance when Liam moved it again. Liam smiled as he recognised the same temper he’d had as a kid.

He felt a sudden pain in his ear as Danni cuffed it. “Stop tormenting your son, and give him his rattle. I’ll buy you one of your own if you’re that fond of it.”

“That hurt.”

She smiled and wagged her finger at him playfully. “Then don’t be a naughty boy.”

Liam gave a lascivious smile. “Come here and I’ll show you a naughty boy.”

Danni made a face and indicated Erin playing quietly in the corner with her doll. “Behave yourself; your children are in the room.” She followed up with a smile that held promise for later on. “Now, help me get the kids ready. I said I’d take them down to see Mum this afternoon.”

Liam stood obediently and stared down at the little group. They were his world and his job was to protect them. There wasn’t much that made him lose his temper nowadays; the benefit of age he supposed. But if anyone hurt Danni or his kids then he would break them in two.

As Liam slipped Erin’s tiny arm into her anorak, she smiled up at him with a look so trusting that he thought his heart would break. He smoothed her red hair down over the hood and thought of the prison that they’d found the day before. Some of the bones had been from children no older than her.

The first Liam knew that he was crying was when a tear splashed onto his daughter’s coat. It was joined a second later by another rolling down his cheek, then a third and a fourth until Erin’s tiny fingers reached up and touched his face and her baby voice repeated words that she’d heard somewhere.

“There, there. Not cry. Daddy not cry.”

Her small face crumpled in sympathy and her tears started to flow, matching his. She was crying for a reason she didn’t understand, protected by her innocence. Liam really wished that he was.

***

The door to the relatives’ room was lying open as they approached, and Craig saw a well-built young man standing with his back towards them. He was gazing out of the window onto Clarendon Dock, eight floors below. The Dock had been built on reclaimed land beside the Lagan thirty years earlier, and the window overlooked office buildings and café’s, stretching to the river several hundred metres away. Craig preferred the view from his office. No buildings loomed between him and the water and the lack of space there was left to build on meant they never would.