The Slowest Cut (26 page)

“You’re sure, boss?”

“Positive.”

“Ryan Carragher, well there you go…”

Liam whistled and Annette shook her head.

“To think I was nice to him about his parents.”

“You were right to be, Annette. Innocent until proved guilty. It probably reassured him that he wasn’t a suspect.”

Liam cut in. “He wasn’t. Then. Do you want him picked up?”

Craig shook his head firmly. “No. I want him to believe he’s still not a suspect. Ryan Carragher’s to be treated exactly like a grieving relative.” He scanned their faces sternly. “If anyone thinks they can’t maintain that pretence with him, then tell me now. There’s no shame in it.”

Annette nodded. “If you don’t mind, I’d…”

“Not a problem, Annette. I’ll find it hard to pretend myself.” He looked at the others. “Liam? Jake?”

“We’ll be fine, boss. Just tell us what you want done.”

Craig’s voice became excited. “I know it’s ambitious, but Aidan and I want the whole trafficking ring, or as many of them as we can get.”

Davy broke in with a “Yay” and Annette smiled. It was like a meeting of the Famous Five.

Craig continued. “I’ve a call booked with Interpol at three-thirty and I’m meeting Chief Constable Flanagan at five o’clock, to see what we can do at this end.” He glanced at the clock. It was twenty-five past three. “Let’s keep going till Nicky puts the call through.” He turned to Liam. “Liam, anything?”

Liam puffed out his cheeks then exhaled. “Aye. Plenty of news from Newcastle but none of it good. They’ve scanned the grounds with ultrasound and found more graves.” He paused, as if reluctant to say what came next. “They’re…they’re nearly all child-sized, boss.”

“Oh God.”

“Aye…but it gets worse. They did the same in the basement of the Down Hartley Hotel and they’ve found bodies in the walls and floor. I’ve spoken to the management and they’ve agreed to shut it down until further notice.” He shook his head. “There’s three acres of ground there, as well two annexes. Forensics will be there all bloody year.” His voice took on a more cheerful tone. “Still, anyone who fancies can have a free night’s stay in a five star.”

They all grimaced and chorus of ‘no thanks’ followed. It was interrupted by Nicky opening the door, squeezing Jake into the corner behind it.

“That’s Interpol on the line, sir.”

Craig nodded and everyone readied to leave. “OK. We’ll pick this up at four o’clock. But good work everyone. We’re getting there.”

“Aye. And when we’ve sorted this lot out we might finally catch our murder perps.”

***

Ryan Carragher chopped the meat into thick cubes and placed it in the Tagine. He covered it with herbs and apricots then left it ready for that night’s evening meal. He smiled as he worked, thinking about the plods he’d spoken to two days before. They hadn’t suspected a thing, treating him like a grieving son who was bravely suffering his loss.

His loving parents. That was a joke. Maybe his Dad hadn’t been a bad man, but God was he weak. He could run rings around him by the time he was twelve. He’d even managed to convince him that throwing girls down in the playground and climbing on top of them had just been a game, no matter what the headmaster thought. Although he’d loved his Mum and missed her when she died, she’d always been more suspicious of his games.

If she’d lived he could never have realised his potential. As it was, he’d been well on the way to being a child-lover by the time Eileen Burns had married his Dad. With her dominatrix tendencies and her access to the BDSM scene, it hadn’t taken him long to find his niche. He’d hated the bitch but she’d had her uses.

His Dad had taken some persuading, but Eileen kept him in his place. Soon he was chatting online with lots of like-minded individuals across the world and a new Northern Irish franchise had been born.

Ryan wiped his hands on a tea towel and pushed through the fire exit into the yard. He lit a cigarette and took a drag, then leaned back against the wall, deep in thought. The plods had found the French girl at the party and they’d managed to locate the Newcastle house. He shrugged. So what? Once it stopped being a crime scene he would inherit the land. Jonathan was so fucked-up he wouldn’t even know he was entitled to half.

He’d sell up and start again somewhere else, abroad. That was one thing about child molesting, it was an international game. He racked his brains for anything at the house that could connect him to it or the French girl. There was nothing. His parents were the perverts, officer, he’d been totally unaware.

He was free and clear. Free to weep his way insincerely through their funerals and, after a decent period of time, get on with his life. Ryan smiled lasciviously, thinking of the young girl who was being imported the following day. By life he meant the boring day-to-day stuff everyone did, but as for pleasure…well, there was no need to slow down on that. He slipped his smartphone from his pocket and connected to the web. Then deeper; to the Dark Web and his favourite chat-room, where everyone spoke different languages, but the meaning was always the same.

***

The C.C.U. 4 p.m.

Everyone had arrived for the briefing, been tea-ed and coffee-ed, and all the banter had died down by the time Craig got off the phone. He emerged from his office like a mole into the light and Nicky thrust a cup into his hand. She lifted her pad to take notes.

“Are you sure you want to hear this, Nick? It’s ugly stuff.”

She nodded. “It’s fine, sir. If it helps catch these creeps then I’d like to help.”

Craig turned to the semi-circle of people, all men except for Nicky and Annette. He needed to do something about that. “Right. We’ve only got an hour.”

Nicky leaned in. “Actually, sir. I made your appointment with the C.C. at five-thirty, just in case.”

He smiled. “Correction, we’ve got about eighty minutes. Right, I’d like to hear from John and Des first, if that’s OK?”

Des took a drink and signalled John to start. John took off his glasses and rubbed them against his sleeve, something he always did when things were getting dark.

“Right. I’ll start with our adult murder victims then move on to the Newcastle house, if that works for everyone?”

He was answered by a series of nods.

“We have four adult murder victims now. Eileen Carragher, her husband Ian, Alan Rooney and finally, this morning, Gerry Warner. Eileen Carragher and Rooney were killed in the same way, sliced slowly until they almost bled to death, then finally finished off with a last cut to the throat. Both had their faces mutilated, they were then publicly displayed in the playground of the school where they worked. Ian Carragher died before they slit his throat and he was left at the school as well. His face was unmarked.”

He took a sip of coffee and restarted.

“The symbolism of a school has since become obvious and you’ll hear later about links with another school. The method of killing is one that was used in China between 900 AD and 1905. It’s called the Ling Chi, the slow death, the slow slicing, or the death of a thousand cuts. It was reserved for particularly heinous crimes and designed to publicly humiliate, inflict maximum pain and destroy the body so that the soul had a rough time in the hereafter.”

Liam boomed across the room. “Hell wouldn’t be bad enough for this bunch.”

John pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded. “Quite. There was an additional factor in Ian Carragher’s case that Des will tell you about. But first I’ll move onto Gerry Warner. He also underwent the Ling Chi, but in his case, and I’m assuming this is because the school was inaccessible, he was left in the grounds of Belfast City Hall this morning.”

Aidan Hughes burst out laughing. “Seriously?” He turned to look at Craig and saw it was true. “God, you kept that quiet, Marc. I bet that put the Councillors off their Ulster Fries.”

Aidan found soul-mates in Des and Liam and they all guffawed. Craig smiled and shook his head, motioning John to go on.

John gave a wry smile.

“There’s a funny side to everything, I suppose. The two fingers up to authority by using The City Hall is fairly obvious, but there was something else different about Gerry Warner’s body. He was decapitated and dismembered after death and his body parts were left in a heap.”

Nicky spluttered and Davy said “Yuk!”

“That’s a good word for it, Davy. It was vicious, but there was something more. The cuts used to kill and dismember him were much less frenzied than in the other bodies.”

Craig leaned in. “We’re pretty sure there are two killers, John. Jonathan Carragher and a girl. Carragher must have dismembered Warner; the girl wouldn’t have had the strength. Couldn’t the difference be explained by that?”

John shook his head firmly. “No it’s something else. The Ling Chi on Warner was also much less vicious and frenzied. I think one of your killers is calm and one is near breaking point. If the boy performed the Ling Chi on Warner and dismembered him, and the girl did the Ling Chi on the others that would make more sense. Either way, there’s something about the Ling Chi in this case that was less vicious than before.”

Craig interrupted. “Perhaps the boy did Warner precisely because the girl hated him too much. After all, Warner was the one who led her torture.”

John shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps she’s just too near the edge.” He turned to Des. “Des, can you tell us about the forensics for these deaths?”

Des nodded and brushed a crumb off his beard. Nicky was certain that something was building its nest in it.

“You already know about the woman’s footsteps at the first scene, well, Warner’s scene gave us even more. There are clear marks of a man’s trainer, so we’ve made a cast of those for you to match, when you have your man. And there are fingerprints all over the place. The first scenes barely had a print to find, only that small one at Eileen Carragher’s scene. This time we have prints on Warner’s body, hairs on the sheet, everything. So either they think they won’t be caught or they’re starting not to care.”

Craig interrupted. “I don’t think they care anymore. They’ve done what they set out to do. Take revenge.” He stopped, thinking about Ryan Carragher. The killers definitely didn’t know about his proclivities or he would be dead as well.

“Well, either way, we have lots of stuff to go on with Warner, which is great. On the other bodies, none of them had any pain relief in their systems, so the pain you imagine was exactly what they felt. In fact…Ian Carragher had sulphuric acid in his wounds, guaranteeing him extra pain. So with all due respect Marc, I don’t think they decapitated Warner because they hated him most, I think they just did it because they couldn’t hang him and display him in the school playground. I think they hated Ian Carragher more than any of the rest. He’s the only one with acid in his wounds. The pain must have been indescribable.”

Liam laughed incongruously.

Des took the bait. “OK, what’s the joke?”

“Well, if Eileen Carragher was the dominant one, then Ian Carragher might have enjoyed pain. The killers probably thought the acid was a punishment, but he might actually have enjoyed it.”

Des started laughing and Annette and Nicky exchanged a look of despair.

Craig shook his head and returned to Des’ report. “I agree with Des. I think they used the acid on Ian Carragher because they hated him most. He was Jonathan’s father. He was supposed to look after him. Eileen Burns, Warner and Rooney had no blood tie to Jonathan, but Ian Carragher did and he didn’t protect him.”

Aidan interrupted. “And the girl?”

Craig nodded. “I’ll come back to her in a moment. Des?”

“Right. There were traces of engine oil on all of them, the grade used in the average car, so the place you’re looking for either has a garage, or is a garage. I’ll come onto the other forensics when John’s finished.”

John straightened his papers and brought a sheet forward from the bottom of the pile. He sighed heavily. “OK. The house in Newcastle, or should I say the hell-hole. I’ve been to Quantico and read the files of their serial killers, and I’ve consulted on genocides in Eastern Europe and Africa. Let me tell you, this ranks right up there with those.” He yawned unexpectedly. The last week had taken its toll.

“Sorry, I’m wrecked. OK. The house is a large detached, set in its own grounds and it was owned outright by the Carraghers. It was bought in 1995 when they married and they moved their sordid little operation there when Marcheson’s School closed in 2004. Thanks to Liam and Jake’s eagle eyes they found a basement, which if you never have to see it, count yourselves lucky.” John focused on his page, his eyes unreadable.

“The basement fed off a door in the main hallway of the house, and extended five hundred metres beyond the house.” He turned to Liam with a look of open admiration. “I have no idea how you spotted that outline, Liam. If I hadn’t known where it was I would never have noticed it.”

“Bomb shelter. My Granny had one on her farm from World War Two. I recognised the raised edge. But Jake had already found the door.”

John smiled at Jake and continued. “Well, however you found it, thank God you did, otherwise that little boy would be dead.”

He paused and took a gulp of tea then made a face. Nicky took the hint and went to re-boil the kettle.

“Anyway. We got inside the basement and it had a long corridor with rooms off either side.” John handed out copies of the floor-plan as he talked. “When I say rooms, I mean cells. Anyone who’s been to Kilmainham Jail in Dublin and seen the original cells will know exactly what I mean. Stone walls, no light, and hot and cold running cockroaches.”

Annette shuddered.

“There were twenty small cells, all with locked doors, but the real tragedy was the room at the end. It ran the full width of the building and it was full of the most obscene torture paraphernalia I’ve ever seen outside a medieval text book. Unbelievable stuff. The C.S.I.s are still working on it and they’ll be there for a long time yet.”

Nicky returned and pressed a fresh cup of tea into John’s hand. He took it gratefully and drank as he talked. “In each of the cells was a pile…” He stopped abruptly, unable to speak, and signalled Des to carry on.