“Mr Rooney?”
The teacher didn’t respond. Not by blinking or by rising, and not with a word or a nod. He just stared at her as if she would disappear if he did it for long enough. Annette repeated the question, this time showing her badge. An unpleasant grin spread across the man’s face and then he spoke. His voice surprised her. It was low and soft with a sibilant hiss that reminded her of a cartoon snake.
“Ah yes, the fuzz. I heard you’d been harassing everyone. What do you want?”
Annette matched his rudeness with fierce good manners. “I’m Inspector McElroy, Mr Rooney, and I’m here to ask you some questions. We can do that here, or, if you would prefer, at High Street station. It’s entirely your choice.”
Alan Rooney laughed, surprising her. “Ah, but it’s not, it is? Bravo, Inspector. You’ve passed the test. Full marks for not being intimidated.” He waved her to a seat. “Ask away. My life is an open text book.”
Annette doubted it somehow, but she took out her notebook and turned to a clean page.
“How long had you known Mrs Carragher?”
He thought for a moment before answering. “When you say know, do you mean know as a teacher or know in any context?”
“Any context.”
“Ah well… then I’ve ‘known’ her for ten years.”
“In what context?”
“Biblically, Inspector. We were lovers.”
Annette was so shocked that she almost bit her tongue, but she didn’t show it. Years of nursing had taught her not to be surprised by anything people revealed. Instead she merely scribbled the words down and gathered herself for what came next. Rooney was still speaking.
“Well, when I say lovers, we weren’t exclusive of course, but we were fairly consistent.”
He smiled nastily to let the words sink in, watching Annette’s face closely as he did. She stared back without blinking and she could see Rooney’s annoyance grow at his words not having the desired impact.
“Aren’t you shocked, Inspector? By a man screwing his boss thirty years older?”
Annette’s tone was dry. “Very little shocks me, Mr Rooney. And there’s nothing new about sex. It’s been going on forever. Although as you’re quite young I should imagine you were barely legal when you and Mrs Carragher became lovers?”
“Bravo again. I was just sixteen. She taught me a lot.”
He smiled as if he was reliving the experience and Annette wanted to hose him down. Where was a water-cannon when you needed one? She swopped ‘just sixteen’ for underage in her head and Eileen Carragher became a paedophile. But she’d worry about the age of consent later. For now she had questions to ask.
“Could you tell me when you last saw Mrs Carragher?”
Rooney glared at her, irritated that his words were having no effect. Annette stared him out in silence until finally he shrugged, dismissing the conversational thread.
“Friday morning. I had a meeting with her at eleven o’clock to discuss the transfer test. It lasted for an hour.”
“Not after that?”
He shook his head. “No. I had a half day. Off to Manchester for the weekend, to check out the scenery.”
She had a pretty good idea which scenery he was referring to.
“I came back yesterday and found out she was dead. Pity. She was a great shag.”
Bile filled Annette’s mouth at his dismissal of their victim as only useful for sex, and she asked the question she intended to ask Gerry Warner when she got another chance.
“Do you frequent BDSM clubs in Northern Ireland, Mr Rooney?”
Rooney smiled again. It was even nastier than before and accompanied by a slow handclap this time. “Oh well done; you are a clever girl. You’ve guessed my dirty little secret. Yes, I’m part of the scene, although not at any clubs you’ll ever find.”
“What does that mean?”
He sprang to his feet surprising her, and headed swiftly for the door, throwing, “do some work yourself and you’ll find out” back over his shoulder.
Then Alan Rooney was gone, leaving Annette gazing around the small classroom and wondering about the secret lives people led.
Chapter Eleven
Aidan Hughes was tall, so tall that he dwarfed the six-foot Davy, and came within an inch or two of Liam’s giant height. But where Liam was broad and well upholstered, Hughes was whippet thin and pure muscle; even his forearms looked like they’d been carved. The look was accentuated by a deep tan and shock of bright blonde hair. Davy pictured him yelling ‘play ball’ on some American sports field; he definitely looked out of place in a wintry Belfast. That was, until he opened his mouth.
“Ach, it’s the baul Liam. How’s it hangin’, man? And who’s the male model? These young cops are getting better looking every day.”
“How’s yourself, Aidan? Been hitting the gym again I see. You need to lay off the protein drinks, lad; you’re nothing but muscle and bone. And give that sunbed a rest for God’s sake. You look like a stick of Wensleydale.”
Hughes laughed loudly and Liam indicated Davy. “This is Davy Walsh, our resident Armani model. He’s also our brainbox analyst. We’re here to ask you about Vice in Northern Ireland.”
“Why? Are you looking for some?”
Hughes laughed at his own joke then waved them to a seat and indicated the percolator, talking as he poured.
“Aye well, Vice is alive and well in Northern Ireland, in all its many-splendored forms. People trafficking, prostitution, drugs, you name it. Which particular type were you interested in?”
Liam waved Davy on and sipped his drink.
“BDSM generally, D.C.I. Hughes. Hard core in particular.”
A grin spread across Hughes’ face and he grabbed a seat, sitting forward eagerly.
“BDSM. My favourite. Consenting adults getting up to all sorts, with bits and bobs from the hardware store.”
Davy’s eyes widened as images of pliers filled his mind.
“Is there a big BDSM s…scene here?”
“Big enough, lad. Depends if you’re talking about the scene open to the public, or the bit that’s underground.”
“Both.”
Hughes thought for a moment then he reached into his desk and pulled out a DVD. He slipped it into the computer and pressed start. Fifteen minutes later Davy had finally stopped blushing and even Liam was getting bored with sex. The DVD was wittily entitled ‘Northern Ireland’s Hottest Spots’ and it was true to its name. It gave a blow-by-blow tour of Northern Ireland’s street-level BDSM clubs, and showed footage from inside each one, including the menu of services they provided, often displayed on the walls. Some of them used euphemisms like ‘school discipline’ and ‘water sports’, but by no means all.
There were fifteen clubs dotted across the country in total, located in places that matched some of the region’s best-known tourist spots. They ranged from so small that they would fit into someone’s back room, to high-end glossy with hostesses and the works.
Liam shuddered. “I’ll never look at the Giant’s Causeway or Tyrella Beach the same way again.”
Hughes removed the DVD and turned it over to the other side.
“Aye, I know. It makes it hard to find somewhere to take your kids on holiday without picturing someone half-naked carrying a whip.” He paused for a moment and his tanned face took on a solemn look. “This next side isn’t quite so vanilla.”
Davy interrupted. “Vanilla?”
“It’s a word used on the BDSM scene for people who aren’t very sexually adventurous. They basically prefer straight sex with the odd silk scarf thrown in.”
“Practically an insult then.”
Liam guffawed loudly and slapped Davy on the back, spilling his coffee. “Good lad. Your humour’s definitely improved since you met me.”
Davy threw him a sceptical look and wiped himself down.
“Fire ahead then, Aidan. We’re all men of the world.”
Hughes grimaced and suddenly the atmosphere in the room changed.
“OK, you asked for it, Liam, but it isn’t pretty. This is the underground BDSM scene and it’s murky. Some of it is legal stuff, just parties held in people’s houses, moving venue each time; still consenting adults. But on the edges we’re looking at prostitution, forced engagement…”
“Rape?”
“Yes, and on a massive scale as well. Gang bangs, trafficking, hard-core videos, even snuff movies at times.”
“Deliberate deaths or accidental?”
“Both.”
Hughes paused and Liam knew exactly what was coming next.
“Kids? The seedy bastards are involving kids?”
Hughes nodded. “There’s a big overlap in the hidden scene with all sorts of abuse. Physical, sexual, child abuse, violence against women...”
Liam interrupted. “Torture?”
Hughes gave him a puzzled look. “That’s often part of it.”
Liam leaned forward eagerly. “Torture where someone is sliced to death?”
Hughes grimaced. “God, no. That’s a new one, even on me. What’s this all about, Liam?”
Liam waved him on, thinking. As the DVD started he pulled out the photos of the Carraghers and Gerry Warner.
“Do you know any of these Muppets?”
Hughes peered closely at the pictures then pointed at Warner. “Him for sure. Gerry Warner. He’s big into the underground scene. Gets up to all sorts. The woman too, maybe. She looks familiar.”
“She was our victim. Found sliced and diced in the school where she was headmistress.”
“God!”
Davy leapt into the few seconds pause that followed. “Do you get many professional people involved in the s…scene?”
Hughes nodded. “Nearly all the punters are. It can be expensive to buy the toys. We’ve had police, teachers, military, Judges, you name it. They often fall on the masochistic side. Submissives. They spend their days making decisions and telling people what to do, so they like to be bossed about at night. Mind you, some of them are the complete opposite; sadistic bastards. You’d be surprised at who’s doing what to whom.”
Davy glanced at Liam. They were both thinking of the trafficking ring they’d encountered the year before. It had included some very well-known men.
“W…We wouldn’t, you know.”
Hughes raised an eyebrow then turned back towards the screen and turned up the volume. They’d managed to ignore the moans and writhing in the background until now but after the first loud screams Davy glanced at Liam meaningfully. They both nodded and then stood up. Liam set down his cup and shook his head at Hughes.
“I don’t think we need to the details, Aidan. I’ve had enough sex today to last me for a month. Well, a week anyway. How the hell do you do this all day?”
Hughes face saddened. “You need a sense of humour, that’s for sure. But it doesn’t stop it getting to you. You just have to keep thinking of the victims. That’s what keeps you going.” He ejected the disc and handed it to Liam. “Just in case you want to view it later in your case. I’ll e-mail through a list of the underground haunts and the names of any big players on the scene.”
He showed them to the door, more subdued than when they’d arrived. As they walked back up to the tenth floor they both thanked God they worked in murder instead of Vice.
***
The C.C.U.
Annette knocked on Craig’s office door but there was no reply. She could see his dark outline standing by the window so she knocked again, gently opening the door. He was staring out at Belfast Harbour; the place where the Lagan quit the city to marry its waters with the Irish Sea. Subsumed and surrounded, never to be quite the same again. As she stood waiting for Craig to turn she realised that he hadn’t heard her. She was just wondering whether to exit and start again when Craig roused himself and glanced round, smiling when he saw who it was.
“Hello, Annette. Coffee?”
“Yes please. I just wanted to update you on something. I interviewed all the teachers at the school.”
“Anything interesting?”
Annette grimaced. “Umm. Yes and no. Everyone says they had no reason to kill Eileen Carragher, but no-one seemed to like her very much.”
“Isn’t that par for the course for bosses?”
Annette laughed. “Is that what you think? That no-one likes you very much?”
Craig gave her a surprised look then he blushed. “Well, no. I mean, I don’t know. I hope not, but giving orders is never popular.”
“Depends how you give them, and whether they make sense.” She smiled kindly at him. “You won’t ask, so I’ll tell you. No-one hates you, sir. In fact, we’re all quite fond of you, really.”
Craig’s blush deepened and Annette laughed again. She sipped her coffee and continued.
“Anyway…Then I got to Mr Rooney, the one that Harlston had mentioned as being friendly with Eileen Carragher.”
“And?”
“And he’s a nasty little man. Horrible, in the same way Gerry Warner’s horrible, but even more so.”
She paused, reluctant to go into more detail. Craig urged her on in a gentle tone.
“Come on, Annette. There’s a reason you’re telling me about him now, instead of reporting at the debrief. What is it?”
“Well… Rooney admitted that he frequents BDSM venues, although he did say, none that we would find.”
“And he knew Eileen Carragher intimately.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Yes. How did you guess?”
“You were so embarrassed that it was a safe bet.”
“It’s worse than that, sir.”
“How?”
Annette broke his gaze and suddenly found something in her handbag fascinating. “He…he said he and Eileen Carragher had been lovers for ten years.”
Craig could see why she’d wanted to tell him privately, instead of announcing it in front of Liam. It conjured up all sorts of jokes.
“Really?”
“Yes. Well, not lovers in any relationship sense.” She blushed. “He said she’d been a great… shag.”
Annette’s blush deepened furiously as she said the last word and Craig didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at her embarrassment. Annette was quite prim, despite the job, and he knew that saying it had cost her a lot.
“Charming.”
“That’s what I thought. He was horrible, but he was quite open about it. She was thirty years older than him!”
“Men date people younger than them all the time, Annette, so why not women? Besides, it’s not as uncommon as you might think. Did he give you any more details about the venues?”
She shook her head. “No. He basically told me to find them myself. But think about it, sir. She was virtually a paedophile. Rooney’s only twenty-six. That means he was sixteen and she was forty-five when they first…well, you know.”
Her voice tailed off and Craig thought for a moment. Eileen Carragher mightn’t technically have been a paedophile but she hadn’t been far off. Even if Rooney had consented, it was murky at best.
“They estimate that up to four percent of paedophiles are female, Annette, so she won’t have been the first.”
He nodded her on.
“Rooney said he last saw her at a meeting on Friday morning. After that he was in Manchester all weekend, doing God knows what.”
“I think we all know what.”
Craig sipped his coffee thoughtfully for a moment. Finally he straightened up and smiled. “Good work, Annette. OK, check out Rooney’s alibi to rule him out for the murder, then go and see Ian Carragher to suss out if he knew about his wife’s affair. They were married when she and Rooney started having sex.”
“Won’t her husband have been involved in BDSM as well?”
“Not necessarily. Couples don’t do everything together. Lots of women take aerobic classes and their husbands don’t go along.”
Annette’s smile told Craig that the analogy was unfortunate.
“It’s obvious that Warner’s into BDSM so I’d like to go back and ask him which clubs he attends, sir.”
“OK. But check out Ian Carragher first and let’s see what Davy and Liam have to tell us. We can re-interview Warner tomorrow morning.”
“If some solicitor hasn’t got him out on bail by then.”
“And even if they have.”