The Slowest Cut (10 page)

Chapter Twelve

Mai stared down at Ian Carragher’s bloated body without any sense of joy. She’d expected to feel the same way that she had with his wife, but there was no pleasure here. He’d given in too easily; accepting death like it was a blessed release, instead of kicking and screaming his way into the dark night. Ian Carragher hadn’t feared the unknown at all. Except where he was going wasn’t unknown. If both the Carraghers didn’t go to hell then there was no justice anywhere.

Mai kicked the body with her small foot and turned to walk back to the house. At the garage door she stopped, noticing a roll of barbed wire that had been there since they’d rented the place. It was perfect. She smiled happily to herself and strolled towards the kitchen, ruffling her hair and quietly humming a tune.

***

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

“OK. Is everyone here?”

Craig scanned the open-plan office. Everyone was there except Annette. He gave her another few minutes then called the briefing to order. She’d be there soon, and anyway, her absence was no bad thing. It would give him time to repeat what she’d told him earlier. She’d asked him to relay it, and if he did it first then Liam’s inevitable jokes would be out of the way before Annette arrived.

“OK. Annette’s off seeing Ian Carragher, but earlier today she went to the school to finish interviewing the teachers. It turns out that no-one much liked Eileen Carragher, but they didn’t hate her enough to kill her. She was having a sexual relationship with a male teacher at the school who was thirty years her junior. When I say relationship, it was consensual, casual sex, probably involving BDSM.”

Craig rattled it out quickly and sat back, awaiting Liam’s inevitable retort. Nothing came. He stared at Liam and then at Davy. They were sitting like bookends at either side of a desk and neither of them said a word. Craig called both their names and Davy stared blankly at him, then realised he’d been speaking.

“Oh hell. S…Sorry, chief.”

Davy glanced at Liam and saw that he was staring at the floor. He lifted a book and slid it along the desk until it hit Liam’s elbow and made him look up.

“Ow! What was that for?”

Davy tilted his head towards Craig and Liam realised that he was expecting a response.

“Oh, God aye. That’s shocking, boss.”

Craig smiled, knowing that Liam hadn’t heard a word. “What was?”

“That thing you just said.”

“That thing that neither you nor Davy heard, you mean?”

Craig repeated the earlier information and this time Liam raised his eyebrows as high as they would go. But that was it. Not a rude comment or a smutty remark, just vague surprise. Jake watched the scene, stunned. His old boss at Stranmillis had been easy going, but nothing like Craig.

“All right you two. Something obviously happened when you went to see Aidan Hughes, so what was it?”

Liam made a face. “That world he lives in is a shocker, boss.”

Davy nodded. “Grubby is the w…word I’d use.” He looked at Jake for someone his own age who would understand. “He showed us one side of a DVD, about all the known BDSM clubs in the North. There were fifteen of them!”

Jake responded in a shocked tone. “Fifteen? All for people who want to beat each other up, and presumably spend a fortune doing it. That wouldn’t be my idea of fun.”

Liam shook his head. “Nor mine. He looked at Craig. “That was just Side One. Aidan said the other side was really hard core. Hidden clubs across the province with incidences of gang rape, abuse, kids, snuff videos. Reminded me of the Ackerman case last year.”

Craig nodded; his gut had told him there was something more lurking behind Eileen Carragher’s death. “Any names or venues for the hidden clubs?”

Liam shook his head. “Aidan said they travelled round different places. Some are held in private homes.”

“Torture?”

“Probably, but nothing like what was done to Eileen Carragher.”

“Did…”

Craig was interrupted mid-question by a breathless Annette rushing through the double-doors.

“Sorry I’m late, but there’s something you should know.”

“Catch your breath, Annette. You can tell us in a minute.” He turned back to Liam and Davy. “Did you show Aidan the photos of the Carraghers and Gerry Warner?”

“Aye. He recognised Warner straight off. He’s heavily into the BDSM scene. Said Eileen Carragher looked familiar too, but not the husband.”

“Annette went to ask Carragher tactfully if he knew about his wife’s other life.”

Craig turned to Annette, nodding her on.

“That’s where I’ve just been. I went to his office to see if I could talk to him and they said he hasn’t been in today. They thought he was taking some time off after his wife’s death.”

“Is that what he told them?”

She nodded. “Well, he said he was going to sort out the funeral arrangements this morning and when he didn’t return, they assumed he was going home. Anyway, I went round to the house and knocked the door but there was no answer. Then I phoned his son Ryan at his restaurant, and he said his Dad had told him he was going to an undertaker on Boucher Crescent to sort the service out, but I phoned the funeral parlour and Carragher missed his appointment. He’s disappeared.”

Craig jumped to his feet. “He must have got the death certificate from John, they couldn’t organise the funeral without it. Liam, call John and ask him what time Carragher left his lab. Davy, get me the address of the funeral home on Boucher Crescent.” He crossed the floor quickly, beckoning Jake and Annette to follow.

“Nicky, we’re going to Boucher Crescent. I’ll call you from there if we need the C.S.I.s”

Jake looked puzzled. “C.S.I.s? Why would we need them, sir?”

“Because if I’m right, Ian Carragher’s been kidnapped, by the same people who killed his wife.”

***

Wednesday 5 p.m.

Boucher Road was a long, wide artery of a road running through South and West Belfast. Two miles long to be precise. It was lined with carpet stores and hardware shops, with a myriad of car dealerships thrown in. It was always busy, especially at weekends, when everyone in Belfast seemed to get the urge to view sofas and beds, or buy something that they didn’t need. During the week it was used as a shortcut between Stockman’s Lane and the M1 motorway into town; a very busy shortcut.

Stockman’s Lane was where they’d been sitting for the past half-an-hour, stuck at the traffic lights waiting to turn right, after taking Liam’s bright advice that it was the quickest route. Craig was peering through the windscreen of his aging Audi willing the traffic to shift, when something caught his eye. The petrol garage up ahead reminded him of something. His eyes tracked across the road to a small white bungalow with a pillar-box red front door. It looked familiar and he was certain he’d been inside it, but then he’d been door-to-door in half of Belfast in his time.

The lights changed and Craig turned the car, glimpsing the house more closely, then he blushed. If Annette noticed his change in colour she wasn’t rude enough to ask. Craig had remembered where he’d seen the house before; it belonged to Katy Stevens’ mother. He’d called there the year before, during a case. He could still remember how nice her mother had been, and how pretty Katy had looked with her long blonde hair loose. John’s double-date suggestion popped into his head and for a moment Craig wondered if he should, then he shook his head. It was too soon. Not for him, he wanted to move on quickly; needed to. He’d spent years on his own after Camille. But it was too soon for Julia, she’d been hurt by their break-up and hearing that he’d started dating so soon would hurt her even more.

Annette’s warm voice broke through his thoughts. “The funeral parlour is on Boucher Crescent, the next left turn.”

“Thanks. What number is it?”

“Six hundred and four.”

Craig counted down past the car showrooms and discount stores, until finally they reached a small turning. It led to a low white building with a car park behind. There was only one car there that wasn’t a hearse and the hairs on Craig’s neck suddenly stood on end.

“Jake, find out what Ian Carragher drives.”

“Already have, sir.” Jake nodded towards the car. “That’s it. The dark green Volvo. The registration matches.”

Craig parked fifty metres away and climbed out, signalling the others to wait. If forensics needed to work the place it was better they only had his footsteps to rule out. He walked towards the Volvo slowly. If Ian Carragher had been taken from here, it would have been at the boot or the driver’s side. That’s where any clues would be.

Craig headed for the passenger door and scanned it expertly. Nothing. He worked his way around the bonnet to the driver’s side; still no signs of a struggle. Something dark on the ground caught his eye, halting him abruptly. It was blood. Dried and dark, but still blood. He increased his distance from the car and walked slowly towards the boot; more blood, a lot of it. Carragher had been abducted from here and not without a struggle. Craig pulled out his phone and dialled quickly, calling forensics to the scene, then he strode back to his car and got in.

“What did you find, sir?”

“Carragher was taken from here and he didn’t go without force. There’s blood all over the ground at the driver’s side and boot. I’ve called forensics.” He turned towards the back seat. “Jake, stay here and wait for the C.S.I.s then start Uniform on the interviews. We’re over-looked from the back of those shops, so let’s see if anyone there saw anything. Find out what time Carragher left John this morning, and you’ll have the approximate time he arrived here. He would have come straight here with the death certificate. He was lifted before he saw the undertaker but find out if anyone else was here at the same time. Someone might have seen him, or seen who took him.”

“You’re certain that he was kidnapped?”

Craig nodded once. “Whoever took his wife took him, Annette, and if I’m not mistaken he’s going to end up the same way.”

***

Boucher Crescent. 9.p.m.

By nine p.m. the car-park had been taped off and the C.S.I.s had done their thing. Jake had interviewed everyone inside the funeral parlour and Uniform had completed their interviews elsewhere. That only left the shop assistants opposite to talk to, but they’d gone home at five o’clock. They would have to wait until tomorrow. Jake propped himself against a low brick wall and flicked back through his notes. A consistent theme ran through the interviews. Several people had seen a small van or people carrier in midnight-blue. No-one remembered the registration completely, but two people had said it started with DFZ. It shouldn’t be impossible to find and Carragher’s abductors would have known that, so either it wouldn’t trace back to them or they just didn’t care.

One witness said she’d seen a small, dark figure and another a tall, dark man. Which was it? Neither or both? Jake rubbed the back of his neck tiredly and then realised the time. Time to go home. He walked to a liveried patrol car and clambered in, looking forward to a good night’s sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

It was dark. Dark in the way that only a street can be dark, when the lamps are shattered and the drapes are drawn and everyone’s long asleep. Dark in the way a starless night leaves a country road un-illuminated, reminding the world of how people used to live before someone lit their way. Pitch dark.

So dark that the two slim figures were barely visible, moving quickly between the van and road. A van whose colour blended with the night. They didn’t mind their names being known; it was inevitable that they soon would be. But not before they’d completed their work and arranged their escape.

Mai lifted Ian Carragher’s feet, leaving the bulk of his weight to be carried by her man. She smiled at the coil of wire around their victim’s waist and took faltering backward steps towards the yard. The wire was perfect. Strong enough to bind him so that he didn’t fall, and symbolic of captivity.

She slid Eileen Carragher’s pass card into the gate, watching as it creaked open. They moved quietly in perfect step, arranging her husband vertically against the railings then twisting the wire deep into his flesh to hold him tight. Mai smiled up at the building. If the police missed their message this time then they weren’t as good as she thought.

***

Fitzwilliam Primary School. Thursday, 9 a.m.

“Oh crap. Not another one.”

Craig nodded tiredly and Liam scratched his head. They walked through the school gates and considered the sight in front of them, because that’s what it was; a sight. A mess of blood and hair, with strips of skin embedded in both, tied to the railings with barbed wire. Every piece of the body’s surface anatomy had been erased just as before. Only Ian Carragher’s face told them that it was a man at all.

Craig dragged his eyes away and scanned the playground. It was full of Uniforms and C.S.I.s, not a child to be seen. It was Groundhog Day, except it was Thursday instead of Monday and the body was Ian Carragher’s instead of his wife’s.

“Why here?”

“What?”

Craig repeated the question. “Why here? Again? The link was obvious with Eileen Carragher, but the husband was a surveyor, not a teacher.”

Liam furrowed his brow in thought then the penny dropped. “She worked here and Annette’s pervy Mr Rooney works here. Who knows, maybe the husband built the place?”

Craig thought for a moment then shook his head. “Too easy, but I think you’re almost right. It’s to do with a school all right, but not necessarily this one.”

Liam gave him a sceptical look. “Where’d you get that from? This is where all the action is.”

“It isn’t where Gerry Warner works and he’s a big part of this equation. Call it gut instinct. You believe in that, don’t you?”

“Aye, aye I do. OK then, which school? And what does all this have to do with the BDSM scene?”

“Both the Carraghers were into it and they were tortured, which happens in BDSM. That’s as far as I’ve got.” Craig nodded towards the car.” Let’s head back to the Squad, I want everyone to chip in.”

Twenty minutes later they were seated out on the open-plan floor. Craig had commandeered a white board from the briefing room and he was standing beside it with a marker in his hand.

“OK, let me summarise first, then I’ll open it up. Here’s what we know so far. Eileen Carragher and her husband met in 1989 at a school in Bangor. They married and had two sons. He worked as a surveyor and she as a teacher, then as headmistress of a primary school. So far, so normal. Except behind the scenes Eileen Carragher had another life, one where she engaged in an affair and BDSM, as did at least two other teachers that we know; Gerry Warner and Alan Rooney.”

He stopped for a sip of coffee and scanned the group. Annette was scribbling notes down furiously and Jake was doing the same, although with less energy; he’d had a late night. Davy was biting his nails and staring into space and Liam was seeing if his foot could reach the page he’d just dropped and pull it towards him, without him having to reach down and pick it up. Craig smiled. They were all listening, even if it didn’t look like it from the outside. He was just about to restart when Davy suddenly frowned.

“Boss, did you s…say the Carraghers had two sons?”

“Yes.”

Davy shook his head. “S…Sorry, but they didn’t. I think that was my fault. I should have made it clear. The two boys were his. Eileen Carragher was their step-mother.”

Craig thought for a moment then nodded him on.

“OK. The s…sons are Ryan, thirty-four; he’s the one with the restaurant, and Jonathan, twenty-three. Their mother died when they were young, in 1994.”

Annette interrupted. “That means they were three-years-old and fourteen. What did she die of, Davy?”

“Cancer. I don’t know what sort.”

Craig nodded slowly, as if he was working something out. “So when he met Eileen in ’89, Ian Carragher was married to his first wife and the younger boy hadn’t been born. By the time they married, he was a widower with two young sons.”

“Yes.”

“That’s important. I’m not sure why yet, but I know it is. OK, Davy, thanks for that. Let’s keep going. Right, Eileen Carragher was the killers’ primary target because she was killed first.”

Liam interjected. “And they chose her school to dump the bodies.”

“Yes, although there may have been another reason for that as well. But if she was the primary target, then that means she was the one that our killers wanted to hurt most.”

“They managed it.”

Annette raised her pen to interject and Craig nodded her on.

“Couldn’t it just be that they wanted to hurt her first, but not necessarily most, sir? They killed her first but they killed her husband as well, and just as brutally.”

“Yes…yes, they did. OK, she was the first, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t others on the list. The fact Ian Carragher was left recognisable is significant in some way as well.”

“Sir.”

Craig nodded Jake on.

“Well it’s just…we know that Eileen Carragher, Rooney and Warner were all into BDSM, because Rooney confirmed he was and D.C.I. Hughes recognised the others. But what’s the link between Ian Carragher and the BDSM scene? If you think BDSM definitely has something to do with their deaths?”

“Good point. We don’t have anything concrete to say the husband was into BDSM yet, but the absence of proof doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

Liam nodded sagely. “Right enough. We all know when a scrote’s guilty, but proving it’s another thing.”

“And Ian Carragher was definitely involved in something, or our killers believed he was, otherwise he wouldn’t be dead. OK. If Eileen Carragher was first and her husband was next, I think we can assume that our other BDSM participants, Warner and Rooney are at risk. I’ve nothing to base that on definitively, but it’s worth warning them to be careful.” Craig perched on top of a desk and turned towards Davy. “That brings us back to the primary case.”

Davy had stopped biting his nails and was playing with his hair now, lifting strands of it to examine his split ends. Everyone stared at him to see if he was listening and he looked up and repeated Craig’s last sentence in a dry tone. “I can multitask you know, people.” He pulled himself upright and turned towards Craig. “Yes, boss. What do you need to know?”

“Anything on the M.O. yet?”

Davy shook his head. “Nothing in the W…Western world at all, or in the Arab or African states, so I’m looking at Asia now for methods of torture. The knife as well. Essentially it’s a razor-sharp meat cleaver, but with a serrated edge. There are no records of a knife exactly like that being s…significant anywhere in Eastern or W…Western culture, and it’s not in any of Des’ books. The closest is called a Chinese Cleaver, used in cooking, but it has a bevelled edge not s…serrations. Maybe they s…serrated it themselves to cause more pain? There’s nothing out on the W…Web yet, so they possibly didn’t video the killing, or it’s not for public consumption. S…Sorry I can’t give you more.”

Craig smiled. Davy had ruled out one hundred variables in two days. He couldn’t complain.

“That’s great Davy, it tells us a lot.”

Davy gave him a puzzled look. “It does?”

“Yes. I’m presuming when you said the Web, you meant that it wasn’t on the Dark Web either?”

Davy looked impressed. The Dark Web was barely known about outside the hacking world. It was a collection of underground websites, some selling drugs, porn and all sorts of other nasty things. The sites were only accessible through modified internet browsers so it required determination or desperation to access them.

“Yes. I mean no, it’s not on Dark either.”

Liam screwed up his face in confusion. “Oh, God, would one of you two speak English. Don’t tell me there’s another internet out there? It’s taken me years to get used to this one.”

Craig watched as Davy buried Liam in tech-speak, until Liam finally waved him away. Davy slowed his voice down exaggeratedly and spoke in a soothing tone.

“Basically perverts buy programmes that let them access w…websites that normal people can’t see. And they aren’t s…selling cuddly toys.”

“Why didn’t you just say that then?”

A laugh went round the group then Craig pulled them back to the case.

“OK. So from what Davy has told us we know our killers aren’t doing this for applause or money, or that video would have been on the Dark Web or auctioned to the highest bidder by now. We also know that they’ve researched this method of killing in detail. It’s elaborate and not obvious e.g. not something they’re likely to have seen in a movie.”

He glanced at Davy for confirmation.

“I ran it through all the movie databases, chief, and it doesn’t match anything. I’m running searches of libraries and books on the s…subject of torture now.”

“OK, so they didn’t just see it in a film and decide to imitate it. They went out looking for it.”

“Or they already knew about it, sir.”

Annette had a thoughtful look on her face and Craig signalled her on.

“Well… you know we decided the female in this partnership was petite?”

“Yes, and?”

“We played about with possible ethnicities and came up with Asian, East Asian and Indian mainly, as well as people who were growth restricted for whatever reason.”

”Yes. Where did you get with all that?”

“Still working on it. But what if it’s not the knife but the method of killing that’s unique to a particular culture? What if the woman’s ethnicity and the method of killing are from the same place?”

Craig’s eyes widened. “Yes! But take it further, Annette. What if the method isn’t showing up on Davy’s searches because it’s no longer used?”

Davy leaned in. “You mean an ancient method?”

“Maybe. What happens if you put the parameters into historical databases, Davy?”

Davy rushed to a computer and typed-in four words at lightning speed. ‘Torture, multiple cuts, Asia’. Nothing came back. He thought for a moment, deleted one word and added another. Craig held his breath as he watched him then exhaled noisily as a smile spread across Davy’s face. Davy pressed print and handed Craig a warm sheet. It held two words.

“Ling Chi? What is it? And what did you type in to find it?”

Davy grabbed a second sheet and re-joined the group, throwing Liam a triumphant look. That was another tick on his side of their long running contest; his technology versus Liam’s street sense.

“First I typed in torture, multiple cuts and Asia into the historical database, but nothing came back. Then it dawned on me that it might not have been categorised as torture, but as legal, s…so I took out torture and entered ‘execution’ and voila, Ling Chi.” He extended his arms in a flourish.

“It was legal! To do what they did to the Carraghers?”

Craig’s voice showed the shock they all felt. Davy warmed to his theme and started reading from the sheet in his hand.

“Ling Chi translates as S…Slow Slicing, the lingering death, or death by a thousand cuts. It was a form of torture and execution used in China from approximately AD 900 until 1905, when it was banned.”

“1905! They still allowed it a century ago?”

Craig gave Jake a dry look. “I imagine people in the future will say that about lethal injections and the Electric Chair. Carry on Davy.”

“Ling Chi was reserved for crimes viewed as particularly severe, s…such as treason and killing one's parents. The condemned person was killed…” He paused and glanced meaningfully at Annette. His message was clear; ‘brace yourself; you’re not going to like the next bit.’ She nodded him on.

“The condemned person was killed by using a knife to methodically remove portions of the body over an extended period of time. The process involved tying the person to be executed to a w…wooden frame, usually in a public place. The flesh was then cut from the body in multiple s…slices. In later times, opium was sometimes given.”

“At least they showed a bit of mercy.”

“Either that or they didn’t want them to pass out, boss.”

Davy read on to the conclusion. “Ling Chi had three purposes: as a form of public humiliation, as a lingering death, and as a punishment after death, because by mutilating the body the belief was that the s…spirit would never find peace: Xiao Jing. Cutting the body goes against the Confucian principle of filial piety or Xiao.”

Liam let out a whistle. “Good old Confucius. And to think we worry about whether the handcuffs are on too tight. Bloody hell, those guys knew how to punish a scrote.”

The room fell silent for a moment while everyone pictured the Carraghers’ last moments. Eileen Carragher’s lab tests hadn’t come over from John yet, but the smart money said she hadn’t been given any pain relief. Craig wondered if her husband had suffered a similar fate.

“Davy, call John and find out what Eileen Carragher’s tests said, please. They must be back by now.”

Two minutes later Davy put down the phone. “No sedation or pain relief in her blood. Her last meal w…was Bombay Mix.”

“That fits with her meeting Warner for drinks. She must have been lifted right after she left him.”

Liam startled, remembering something. He gave Craig a sheepish look. “Oh aye, sorry, I meant to tell you, boss. Uniform found Eileen Carragher’s car parked in the centre of town last night, a stone’s throw from the bar where she and Warner met for drinks. It had been clamped on Monday morning. The C.S.I.s are going over it now.”