Chapter Twenty-One
Alan Rooney peered into the darkness defiantly, trying to focus the two shapes by his side through his blur of pain. He sucked in some air and yelled his next words.
“Just fucking well finish it, will you? We all know how I’m going to end up, so don’t drag it out.”
His words fell flat against the walls of the garage then sank into the absent response. Mai smiled. Not a secret smile or a half-smile, but a full-on grin that made her partner cringe to see it. She was enjoying this all too much.
He touched her arm gently and motioned her towards the door, leading the way into the house. Once there he faced her in the lamp-lit hall, taking her hand tenderly and holding it to his face. He was a quiet man, using few words where others would have used far more, and he asked little of her, the guilt of their past subverting all of his rights. But when he did speak Mai listened, and he spoke now.
“Mai, please let’s do this quickly.”
She gazed up at him, seeing the pain in his soft dark eyes. She watched him plead for mercy, always kind, even to the people that had brought them to this state. She thought about what he was requesting; mercy for Alan Rooney, the kindness of a quick death. Then she remembered how many times they’d both pleaded for the same and she shook her head. She searched for the words to explain why it had to be done this way and found only one.
“Peace.”
The young man touched her soft black hair and understood, as he always did, then he nodded and turned towards the stairs, refusing to take part. Rooney’s pain would give Mai a moment’s peace and he couldn’t deny her that. But he refused to hurt anyone ever again.
***
The C.C.U. Saturday. 9 a.m.
“Anyone seen the boss?”
Annette popped her head above her cubicle wall. “He called and said he and Jake would be twenty minutes late.”
Liam headed for the percolator, knocking it on just as Davy wandered onto the floor, looking like he’d been caught in a shower. Liam glanced out the window. It wasn’t raining.
“You been in a flash-flood, son?”
Davy shook his head hard, setting droplets of water flying across the room. He looked like a highly-strung stallion after a long run and his expression was less than happy.
“S…Some dickhead of a driver’s just driven right through a puddle and drenched me.”
Annette wrinkled her nose, knowing that the water would have been full of rubbish and dirt. She walked over to him wearing a sympathetic expression.
“Go to the men’s changing rooms on the fourth floor, Davy. You can have a shower and wash your hair. There’s even a hot rail to dry your clothes.”
He shot her a look that said, ‘would that really be all right?’
She nodded. “The Super won’t be in for twenty minutes, so you’ll just have time.”
Annette grabbed Davy’s bag and set it by his desk, handing him her security pass and shooing him off the floor. When she turned Liam was struggling with a coffee filter.
“Liam, give me that, for goodness sake. I don’t know how you manage to get dressed in the morning.”
Liam gave a coy smile. “Neither do I the way Danni behaves.”
He laughed and Annette shook her head to remove the image. “That’s way too much information.”
Just then Craig and Jake wandered onto the floor. “What’s too much information?”
“You honestly don’t want to know, sir.” Annette glanced at the clock. “I thought you said you were going to be late?”
Craig scanned the open-plan floor. “I’ll explain in a minute… Where are Davy and Nicky?”
Annette beckoned him to one side. “Davy’s gone to have a shower – he got drenched by a car. I told Nicky to stay at home today. I’ve found out what’s been going on and I think she needs the rest.”
“Fine. Tell me after the briefing.” He turned back to the others. “Let’s have a quick coffee while we wait for Davy, then we’ll start.”
“Boss, did you ever find out if Ian Carragher had pain relief while they did the deed?”
Craig’s eyes widened then he headed quickly for his office. He’d forgotten to call about Carragher’s results in all the uproar the day before. He rang John’s mobile; no answer then he tried the lab and it was answered in one ring.
“John Winter; pathology’s my specialty.”
Craig stared at the handset, wondering what John was on. The answer came to him immediately.
“You proposed! And by the sound of it Natalie said yes! Congratulations.”
“Marc?”
“Congratulations. When did you ask her?”
John’s voice filled with pride. “Thursday night. We went out to dinner at The Merchant. I planned everything perfectly. She even liked the ring I’d held over. We’re going to collect it later today.”
He’d ignored practically every suggestion Craig had made. Good man.
“You can tell me everything when we meet, but have you set a date?”
John coughed so hard that Craig had to wait a minute for his next words. “No, we did not! God, give us a chance to be engaged.”
“Don’t leave it too long, that’s my advice, or the moment might be lost.”
Craig had made that mistake with Camille.
“Thank you, Henry the Eighth… Right, as you didn’t know that I’d proposed when you called, you didn’t phone me about that. So what can I do for you?”
“Ian Carragher’s blood tests. Any sign of sedation or pain relief?”
John rubbed his forehead. He thought they’d already had that conversation, but he’d been so confused all week, maybe not.
“No on both counts. Nothing in his stomach contents either. He wasn’t given any pain relief, quite the opposite in fact; his wounds had traces of acid in them.”
“Acid? What sort?”
“A weak sulphuric. Strong enough to hurt like hell but not enough to kill him. I’d say they poured it on his cuts to make them hurt even more than his wife’s.”
It was interesting. No, it was more than interesting, it was important. Ian Carragher’s picture hadn’t registered with Aidan Hughes at all, so they’d wondered if he was an innocent pawn. Obviously not, as far as his killers were concerned. If anything it looked as if they’d hated Carragher even more than his wife. John was still talking and Craig caught the word ‘oil’.
“Oil? What type?”
“Engine oil. The sort you’d find in the average saloon.”
Something occurred to Craig. “Is sulphuric acid used in car batteries?”
“Yes. Especially in older cars.” John paused, working it out. “Ah, I see, you’re thinking of a garage.”
“Yes. But it could be anywhere. We don’t know if it’s a commercial garage or just one in someone’s house.”
“It’s something anyway. Right now, I need to go. There’s a big find in Newcastle and they’ve asked me down to supervise. Don’t suppose you know anything about it, do you?”
“Too much for comfort. Will you be back tonight?”
“Yes. Around eight. Bar Red?”
“I’ll see you there.”
Craig dropped the phone and walked onto the floor, to see a squeaky-clean Davy towel-drying his hair. He poured him a coffee and then beckoned them all to sit, updating them on John’s findings first.
“God, boss. Battery acid? I’ve never heard that one before.”
“Live and learn, Liam. But it means that rather than Ian Carragher being innocent, they may have hated him even more than his wife.” He turned to Annette. “Any joy on the sons, Annette?”
“The eldest, Ryan, is coming in here this morning. I’m putting him in the relatives’ room. I thought it was better than High Street.”
“Good, that’s best. We have nothing to say the sons are guilty of anything yet. They’re more likely to have been victims. What about the younger boy?”
“Jonathan. He’s hard to pin down. He did history at Uni but mainly drifted after that. Ryan won’t say much about him.”
“OK. Find out if he’s hiding something or just being protective. Any joy on aging the photos?”
“Davy’s got them in a pack. He’s going to hand them out in a minute.”
“Excellent.”
Craig turned towards Liam with a gentle warning look. They’d debriefed the gory details about Newcastle the evening before and he’d done the same with Jake that morning. They would both see the force’s psychologist as soon as the case wound up, but meantime they’d agreed a PG version for the rest of the team. “Liam?”
Liam turned to the group, looking subdued. He’d talked to Craig and slept as much as he could the night before, but he was haunted by the things he’d seen and it showed on his pale, freckled face. His deep voice was uncharacteristically quiet.
“It was grim.” He stared pointedly at Annette and Davy. “You don’t need to know the details, believe me, and I wouldn’t inflict them on you. All I’ll say is that they built a dungeon where they kept kids and did unspeakable things to them. We found one boy alive but there were nine others dead as of eight o’clock this morning. The C.S.I.s and dogs are down there working the grounds, with ultrasound, so God knows how many more bodies they’ll find. That’s it.”
He nodded at Jake to take over and he repeated the story, staring into space and adding. “Imagine the worst video game based in hell that you can think of and then multiply it by ten. I hope I never see anything like it again.”
The room was silent for a moment. Annette’s face was blank and Davy picked frantically at his nails, while Liam and Jake stared at their feet. Finally Craig broke the mood.
“OK, we’ll hear more on that over the next few days. John’s been asked to consult by the pathologist down there.” He smiled and his tone became upbeat. “By the way, there’s some good news. John and Natalie are engaged.”
Annette grinned. “Our first team wedding! Brilliant. I can’t wait to tell Nicky.”
Liam shook his head in mock despair. “Another man bites the dust. Ah well.” Then he guffawed. “There’s bound to be a party. Great excuse to get drunk.”
“Like you need an excuse!”
Annette smirked. “You’ll have to buy Danni a new outfit, don’t forget that.”
Craig let them banter for a moment then added. “There’s no date set, so I wouldn’t hold your breath for the wedding. I think we’re looking at a long engagement there. Anyway, let’s move on. Davy, what have you got for us?”
Davy lifted a folder from his desk and distributed the hand-outs inside, talking as he did. “There are three s…sheets, each containing images. The top sheet is what we think the girl from the porn video looks like now. The boy’s back was to the camera, so unfortunately w…we couldn’t get a clear shot of him.”
They were looking at the photograph of a young woman. Her eyes were Chinese but there was something else. Craig said it first.
“This girl is mixed race. Chinese/Caucasian, I’d guess.”
“Yes. It w…wasn’t as obvious when she was a child, but her features altered as she grew.”
“There’s no chance this is wrong, Davy?”
“None.”
Annette interjected. “Most people seeing her would still describe her as Chinese. That’s probably why Warner reacted when you mentioned it.”
“You’re right. OK, good, Davy. What’s the next shot?”
They turned to the second sheet. It held a series of photographs, starting with Aurelie as an eleven-year-old and working backwards through her school-age years. At every age she was a slight little girl with white-blonde hair.
Craig stared at the photos for a moment, remembering the terrified little girl he’d spoken to two days before.
“I’ve s…sent these across to the school in the Loire and the Gendarmes.”
“Excellent. Liam will get you a headshot of the boy they found in Newcastle. Do the same for him please.”
“Where shall I send them?”
Craig shook his head. The boy hadn’t said a word yet. He was hoping they’d find records at the house that would give some clue to his past life.
“We’ll sort that out later. What’s the final page?”
Annette answered him. “The sketches of the man who bought the knife and the logo on the bag he was carrying. You saw them yesterday.”
The others stared at the images. The man’s eyes were pure speculation so any I.D. was useless unless they had a face to match. He could be western or he could be Chinese. The logo was more interesting.
“It’s a Chinese restaurant on the Ormeau Road. Liam, Jake, I’d like you to pay it a visit. Take the images with you, please.”
They stared at the pictures for a moment longer then Craig brought them back to the report. He nodded Jake on and sat back, thinking. Their killers were a young Caucasian or Chinese man and a Chinese/Caucasian woman of a similar age. There was something niggling at him and he knew it was important, but every time he reached for it, it slipped away.
Jake’s clear voice cut through his thoughts. “I was collecting the boss this morning when we picked up a call. It was at Fitzwilliam School again.”
Liam sighed heavily. “Ah, God, not another one. That school’s turning into a graveyard.”
“Yes, another one. Alan Rooney, judging by the papers found beside him.”
Annette leaned in urgently. “His face had been destroyed, like Eileen Carragher’s?”
Jake nodded. “And they’d strapped him to the merry-go-round. It was a miracle he was found before some kid saw him on Monday. I’ve no idea how they keep getting through the locked gates.”
“Houdini.”
Davy shook his head. “It’s a key pad system; it w…would be easy enough to hack.”
“Did the caretaker find him?” Annette’s voice was as sympathetic as they all felt. All except Liam.
“That poor bugger’s having a bad week. I’ve heard of leaving litter, but…”
“Liam!”
“Ach, away on with you. You’ve got to laugh about it or….” He searched for something to indicate gravity, settling on. “Or you’d have to get drunk.”
Annette pursed her lips. “And there’s me thinking you were about to say ‘you’d have to cry.’ But that would require a heart.”
Craig shot Liam a quick look that said he’d seen his tears the night before, then he gave Annette another look that said ‘you’re wrong.’ She read it immediately and clammed up. Craig interrupted Jake’s report with an apologetic nod.
“Sorry, Jake, I’ll take over if that’s OK.” He stared pointedly at Liam and Annette. “It’s the only way to keep these two from killing each other. OK. Yes, it was Alan Rooney. Killed in the same way as Eileen Carragher and her husband, with his face removed like Mrs Carragher’s had been. I’m sure John will find the same forensic traces. Apart from any detail we get from the scene, I’d say that any vague doubt we had that Rooney might not have been involved, has now gone. That only leaves us with one suspect still alive. Gerry Warner.”