The Slowest Cut (24 page)

Des smiled and his lips disappeared in a carpet of hair. He made Annette think of an aging teddy bear. It was a nicer image than what was under the sheet. Craig smiled, reading Annette’s thoughts.

“I’ll take that as a yes then and see you both there. There’s a lot to catch you up on.”

Craig headed for the car, deep in thought. Liam hung a few feet behind him with Annette, watching Ray Mercer carefully out of the corner of his eye. The hatchet-faced reporter spotted them and forced his way through the crowd of onlookers, catching up with Liam as he emerged from the Hall’s side gate.

“Any comment for the Chronicle, D.I. Cullen? Our readers have a right to know.”

Liam spun round towards him, his pale face blank. “It’s D.C.I. Cullen, Mercer. And your readers will have to wait for an official statement.”

Mercer’s face twisted into a sly smile. “D.C.I., well, well. Police brutality obviously pays.”

Annette saw Liam’s expression change and moved quickly to intervene. “Move along, Mr Mercer. There’s nothing for you here.”

Mercer grinned at her but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “If it isn’t the faithful sidekick. Frumpy Cop herself.”

Liam saw Annette’s face fall and he was just about to move in, when Craig stepped between Mercer and his prey. He turned to face him then moved so close that only Mercer heard his words. Whatever Craig said it had the desired effect. Mercer spat out a few expletives for bravado, then disappeared into the crowd. Craig headed back to the car and no-one spoke until they were parked in the basement of the C.C.U.

Annette turned towards Craig, deliberately catching his eye. “What did you say to Mercer, sir?”

Liam leaned forward over the back seat. “Aye, what was it? Whatever it was he looked scundered.”

Craig stared straight ahead for a moment then he sighed exaggeratedly, as if he’d made up his mind to confess.

“I told him there were a lot of murderers who hadn’t liked his reporting on their cases, and some of them would soon be out on parole. His home address might accidentally find its way into their possession.”

Liam’s jaw dropped and Annette gawped at him. “Sir, you didn’t. That’s threatening behaviour.”

Craig smiled inscrutably and climbed out of the car, leaving them wondering whether he had or not.

***

Davy was sitting head-down focussing on something when the group entered the squad-room, and Nicky smiled at them as if they were her children, back for the school holidays after not having seen them for weeks. She jumped to her feet and pulled out a box, opening it to reveal a selection of cream cakes.

“The coffee’s on and you’ve been working so hard all weekend that I thought a treat was in order.”

Before she could finish her sentence Liam had dipped his hand into the box. He lifted a chocolate éclair and slipped it vertically into his mouth, with all the delicacy of a python swallowing its prey. Annette averted her eyes and stared into the box for what seemed like forever, finally settling on a cream slice. She was just about to lift it when she thought better of it and turned abruptly towards her desk. Nicky stared after her curiously.

“What’s the matter, Annette?”

Annette smiled thinly. “Oh nothing. I just need to lose a few pounds.”

Nicky scrutinised her with an honesty that no man would dare employ. Annette was a size twelve and muscular. She circuit trained and took a dance class. She wasn’t fat, just strong, and that was exactly what Nicky said. Annette stared down at her legs. They were muscular but lean, but Ray Mercer’s caustic remark had hit home.

“Do you really think so, Nicky? It’s just that Ray Mercer called me Frumpy Cop.”

Davy’s ears perked up and he loped across the floor at speed. He put his arm around Annette’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Mercer’s a rude bastard and he hates w…women. Maggie tells me all the time about cruel things he says to girls in the office.”

Annette stared up at him eagerly. “He does?”

Davy nodded firmly. “Yes he does. His w…wife left him and he’s got even w…worse since then.” He swooped on a cream donut. “Ignore him. Honestly.”

Davy smiled and wandered back to his desk and Annette decided the cream slice was a good idea after all. Silence reigned for a moment while they ate their cakes, then Liam slurped his coffee and considered Annette with what he thought was an expert eye.

“Mercer didn’t say you were fat anyhow. He said you were frumpy. That’s different.”

Nicky hissed at him. “Liam. For God’s sake!”

His eyes widened innocently. “What? I was only saying…”

“You were only saying far too much. Annette’s style is her own business.”

Craig thought it was time to intervene. “OK. That’s it. Liam, leave Annette alone. Annette, ignore Mercer, he’s a sad little man and he’s hardly a fashion plate, is he? You have two minutes to finish the cakes Nicky very kindly provided, and then everyone get back to work.”

He wandered into his office to the sound of Nicky whispering. “Come shopping with me next Saturday, Annette and we’ll see what we can do.”

Craig smiled and shook his head, picturing Nicky’s eclectic results.

***

“What time are you interviewing Tate, Aidan?”

“One o’clock. Can you make it?”

Craig glanced quickly at the clock. It was twelve-forty. They were waiting for Warner’s body to be processed, Davy had all the checks running for his various I.D.s and they had an alert out on Jonathan Carragher and the girl, by description if not by name. John and Des would update him on everything else at the briefing. There seemed little to stop him nipping off for an hour.

“Yep. We’ll see you there in ten.”

He dropped the phone quickly and pulled open his office door.

“Nicky, I’m heading to High Street to interview a suspect with D.C.I. Hughes. Find me there if you need me.”

He glanced around the floor. Davy was staring intently at his screen. Annette was nowhere to be seen, but she wouldn’t be far, and Jake was sitting at his desk, head bowed. Craig walked over and stared at his screen. He was typing-up his account of the Newcastle discovery. It could wait.

“Right Jake, find Annette. We’re taking a trip to High Street. D.C.I. Hughes has Edgar Tate waiting for interview.”

Jake’s face lit up. Craig thought it was probably because the interview was the lesser of two evils, although it was a toss-up which was worse. Write a report on finding children’s remains in an underground prison, with all the memories that evoked, or spend an hour listening to a pervert deny that he’d done anything wrong.

Ten minutes later they were pushing through the steel door of High Street Station. Jack was nowhere to be seen so Craig tapped on the reception window. A pair of dark eyes appeared from underneath the desk. They were followed by a familiar grin.

“Hello, Sandi. Could you buzz us in, please?”

Sandi Masters smiled at Craig and Annette then gave Jake a curious look. Craig took the hint.

“Have you two not met before?”

Jake shook his head.

“Sandi, this is Sergeant Jake Mclean. He’s with on secondment to us from Stranmillis. Jake, this is Constable Sandi Masters. She keeps Jack in line.”

Sandi smiled and buzzed them in. “Sergeant Harris is in the back. He wasn’t feeling very well so I told him to take a break.”

Craig shot her a concerned look and pushed through the staff-room door. On a worn couch set against one wall, Jack Harris was sipping tea and looking pale. An image of his father having his heart attack the year before filled Craig’s mind and he walked over to Harris anxiously.

“Jack. Are you OK? Sandi said…”

Jack waved away his concern and, as if to underline how well he was feeling, he bit firmly into a biscuit. He smiled at Jake. “Hello again, lad. Is the Super here keeping you busy?”

“He is indeed.”

Craig watched Jack’s face closely. Something was amiss but it wasn’t physical. He grabbed the nearest seat.

“What’s wrong? You’re not dying or you wouldn’t be eating biscuits and chatting.” His father could barely speak when he was ill. “So what is it?”

Jack waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the cells. “Ach. I’m just being a stupid old man, I suppose, but there are some crimes that I really can’t take.”

Craig nodded. They all felt revulsion at this case.

Jack continued. “Sandi hasn’t seen the file, so she doesn’t know what’s bothering me.”

Craig would lay money on Sandi not knowing because Jack was protecting her. Jack talked on.

“I don’t mind what these weirdoes get up to in their free time, but involving that little French girl…” He shook his head in disgust. “I have a granddaughter that age and if anyone touched her…” His face flushed. “Well, he wouldn’t be walking for long, that’s a fact.” He shook his head in disgust. “Innocent, that’s what children are, and that bastard in the cells throws a party to ruin one of them.”

He lapsed into silence and the others said nothing. What was there to be said? None of them disagreed. The only person who did was sitting in a cell. If Edgar Tate was guilty their job was to make sure he stayed there for a long time.

Just then Aidan Hughes bounced energetically through the door. He read the mood immediately and tempered his own, pouring a cup of tea and gulping it down. Then he rubbed his hands together.

“Right lads and lady, what do you say we give Mr Tate and his brief a run for their money? Marc, you happy that I lead and you chip in?”

Craig nodded. He might have the rank but animals like Tate were Aidan’s stock in trade.

Craig turned to Jake and Annette. “Observe from the viewing room, please. Jack, I take it you want to be as far away from this one as possible?”

“You’re dead right, I do.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, I think I’ll lock the doors for an hour and take Sandi out to lunch if you’re OK with that?”

Craig nodded. “I’ll get Nicky to take your calls and we’ll hear the front door if it rings.”

“Right then. I’ll see you at one o’clock.” Harris grimaced. “I don’t envy you your task.”

They headed into the interview room. Hughes first, then Craig. Jake and Annette peeled off into the viewing room. Now that Gerry Warner was dead, everyone likely to be murdered had gone. That left them with two killers to catch, a house full of bones and two children who couldn’t help them. Edgar Tate was their best chance of getting answers, even if they had to cut him a deal.

The door to the interview room swung open and the two men seated at the table turned. One with startled eyes, the other looking bored. The bored one stood immediately and extended his hand, only to find it barely touched by Aidan and ignored by Craig.

It was curious the way solicitors always stood when the police entered interview rooms. Craig had long ago stopped believing that it was good manners; he’d seen too many of them drunk in town to credit them with that. No, he had another theory. They stood to ensure that the police knew who the good guy was and who the bad, in case they were mistaken for the accused. They obviously weren’t sure people could tell the difference without a hint.

There often wasn’t much difference; plenty of lawyers sailed close to the wind. Their experience last summer with Judge Dawson was proof that the judiciary weren’t above reproach. Dawson was doing twenty years in Maghaberry to prove it.

Hughes took his seat across from Tate and Craig sat beside him, facing Tate’s brief. They turned on the tape and ran through the legalities and formalities, then they sat in silence, no-one saying a word. Craig gazed at Edgar Tate across the table. It was a freezing day and he was cold in his heavy suit, yet Tate was sweating profusely in a thin shirt. The sweat of a guilty man. Correction. The sweat of a guilty man who’d been caught. He doubted if Tate had produced a drop of sweat when he was partying and abusing kids.

Tate ran his hand nervously under his dark shirt collar and Craig noticed its designer motif. He had plenty of money, there was no doubt of that, but the law didn’t care how much he had in the bank. He stared at the man’s greying hair, cut in a style that gave his age away. Tate was in his fifties somewhere and Aurelie was a child.

Craig wanted to beat him to a pulp, but instead he smiled, so coldly that Tate glanced away. Aidan had interviewed men like this a thousand times before and Craig didn’t know how he could stand it. Tate hadn’t said a word yet and he already wanted to kick away his chair.

Suddenly the silence was broken by Aidan Hughes’ strong voice. “Mr Tate, your solicitor will have told you how much trouble you’re in. What I don’t want is for you to use this interview to deepen that hole. This is your opportunity to give us something, anything that might be used as mitigation in your case.”

He tapped the pile of papers sitting in front of him.

“We have you organising a party where prostitution occurred.”

Tate leaned forward to object but Hughes raised a hand to still him. “The party occurred in your home and you were present and conscious and wearing a costume that clearly indicated that you were joining in. Whoever organised the party, you allowed it to happen on your premises; you are responsible. There were also Class A substances being used; charge number two. Now, I couldn’t care less what consenting adults get up to in private, as long as there’s no prostitution or drugs involved. Even allowing for that, a court might be inclined to be lenient if we could put forward mitigation.”

Craig watched the solicitor as Aidan said ’mitigation’ and his ears pricked up. Aidan was throwing them a bone on the first two charges. But there was always the caveat…

“However, there was a female minor present at the party. A little girl of eleven year’s old. She was in a position to witness sexual behaviour, which at very least is child endangerment.” Aidan leaned forward so suddenly that Tate jerked back and his voice grew hard and loud. “And what’s more the child was bruised, and there were signs that she had been sexually assaulted. Courts take a very dim view of that, Mr Tate, and I take an even dimmer one.”

Tate started to bluster, his eyes wild with panic. “I didn’t know she was there! She was nothing to do with me!”