White is the coldest colour: A dark psychological suspense thriller

by John Nicholl

  ‘So you believe me?’

  DI Gravel nodded. ‘Don’t quote me on this, son, but yes, I believe you.’

  ‘Thanks, I can't tell you how much that means to me.’

  ‘You need to think carefully before answering my next question, Rhodri.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Would you be prepared to make a formal statement?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No hesitation?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘And would you be prepared to give evidence in court if Galbraith’s prosecuted?’

  ‘I had nightmares and flashbacks for years. The bastard robbed me of my childhood. I want people to know what he is.’

  ‘You understand we’re going to need to talk about the specific details of what happened to you, son.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  DI Gravel rose to his feet. ‘I’ll fetch the statement forms and be back with you in two-minutes.’

  Chapter 43

  DI Gravel checked his digital watch at 05:58:37 precisely on Thursday 13, February… Time to make a move.

  He unzipped the padded purple coat that his subordinates secretly joked made him resemble the Michelin man on anabolic steroids, and opened the front passenger side door of the Vauxhall.

  The inspector nodded to Rankin in the driver’s seat as he got in, and acknowledged the two female uniform search officers sitting in the back with a half-smile. ‘Morning, everyone, time to go, Clive, my boy. I want to be knocking on Galbraith’s door at six-thirty exactly. All the other arrest and search teams should be doing likewise. I don’t want the bastard having even the slightest opportunity to destroy evidence or pick up the phone to contact other offenders. We’ll break the fucking door down if we have to. What’s the news on the dog?’

  Rankin rubbed his tired eyes and yawned loudly.‘The dog handler’s meeting us there, boss. I’ve told him you'll kick his ass for him if he’s a second late.’

  For the remainder of the journey they engaged in occasional mundane stress-busting chit-chat until Rankin eventually steered the car into Eden Road about fifteen-minutes later.

  The DI checked his watch again. ‘This is it, Clive. Galbraith’s place is about half way down. Stop a few houses back, we’ve got almost five-minutes yet. Any sign of the dog?’

  Rankin steered the Cavalier into a tight parking space, and peered up and down the dark tree-lined street… Where the hell was he? ‘Not as yet, sir.’

  ‘He’s cutting it a bit fine, Clive.’

  Just as Rankin was searching for an adequate response he spotted the dog handler’s white police van approaching in the rear view mirror… Thank fuck for that. ‘He’s behind us, boss.’

  DI Gravel exited the car, pointed to a parking space three spaces back from the Vauxhall, and tapped repeatedly on the driver’s side front window.

  PC Rob Lawler wound it down. ‘Sorry, sir, I’ve been up all night with the baby.’

  ‘No worries, Rob, you're here now. That’s what matters.’ He pushed up his sleeve: 06:28:59. ‘Let’s go, we need to get in there.’

  DI Gravel pointed to the Cavalier, and then towards the house, before approaching number sixty-four Eden Road with the four officers and a white Welsh Springer Spaniel with dark brown markings, who was bouncing around the pavement exuding seemingly boundless energy, following close behind.

  DI Gravel stared at the face of his Casio and waited for the last few seconds to pass by before knocking hard on the glossy black door with its misleading persona of prosperous middle class respectability. He kept knocking with escalating force with the side of a clenched fist until the door was opened only seconds later by Cynthia Galbraith, who looked at him with bulging eyes and an open mouthed guppy like expression.

  The inspector held up his warrant card in plain view. ‘Mrs Galbraith? Mrs Cynthia Galbraith?’

  Cynthia narrowed her eyes to virtual slits, closed her gaping mouth, and said, ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘My name is Detective Inspector Gravel. We're here to speak to your husband, Mrs Galbraith. Where is he please?’

  Cynthia didn't move an inch. She held her ground like an obstructive doorman at a night club, fixed DI Gravel with a determined glare, and said, ‘I can’t let you in. My husband won't want to be disturbed. Not at this time of the morning. I haven't even had the chance to finish preparing his breakfast as yet. You’ll have to make an appointment.’

  ‘Get out of my way, Mrs Galbraith.’

  Cynthia took a step backwards, but instead of stepping aside to allow the officers to enter, she attempted to slam the door shut, connecting violently with the inspector’s right knee as he stepped forward and placed his foot in the door.

  DS Rankin moved forward in an instant, and pushed the door forcefully with both hands, causing Cynthia to stumble backwards and crash to the tiled floor with a barely audible whelp that the dog appeared to find particularly interesting.

  DI Gravel rubbed his leg with one hand as he manoeuvred past her and into the hall… If Galbraith was awake he was getting too much time.

  The inspector turned, bent down, offered Cynthia his open hand, and lifted her to her feet as the remaining officers crowded into the hall behind them. ‘You have children, Mrs Galbraith. I’m going to give you one last opportunity to tell us where he is before we search every room in the house until we find him. Now, Mrs Galbraith! Where is your husband, Mrs Galbraith?’

  Sarah and Elizabeth suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs and called for their mother as Cynthia pondered her next move… Why were these unwelcome strangers in her home? Could it be something to do with the child she’d seen being carried into the house? Wasn't the disheveled middle aged police inspector sitting next to that disconsolate father pleading for the return of his seven year old son on the Welsh evening news? She looked at her daughters, then at DI Gravel, and then at her daughters again, before finally turning away from the officers and approaching the stairs. As she placed her foot on the first step she said, ‘He slept in his study last night. It’s the second door on the right down the hall,’ without looking back.

  ‘Stay with the mother and kids until someone arrives from social services, Pam. Keep them well out of the way. Rankin, with me! The rest of you can start searching as soon as Galbraith’s arrested.’

  DI Gravel didn't knock this time. He just opened the study door and burst into the room. He stared incredulously at Dr Galbraith, who was slumped in his recliner chair with his eyes tight shut and a fine trickle of drool running down his lightly stubbled chin from one corner of his open mouth.

  The inspector scowled… The television was on, there was nothing on the screen. Was he dead? No, the man was sleeping. Unbelievable! Despite all the noise the man was sleeping.

  He took hold of the doctor's upper arm in a powerful grip, shook him vigorously and yelled, ‘Wake up, Galbraith, it's the police.’

  The doctor woke with a start, and quickly surveyed the room as DI Gravel pulled him to his feet… Focus, man, focus. He’d been careful. Everything that mattered was back in the cellar. All was not lost. Maybe the plebs wouldn't find the little bastard.

  He clutched at his head with frantic fingers… All he had to do was stay in control and take advantage of his superior intellect.

  Dr Galbraith supported his full weight, and fastened his trousers before speaking. ‘Please accept my sincere apologies, gentlemen. I have trouble sleeping on occasions. I sometimes take a tablet. What can I do for you?’

  DI Gravel tightened his grip, causing the doctor to squeal… He was guilty. The cunt was guilty. Innocent men asked what was going on, they protested their innocence. ‘You're under arrest, Galbraith.’ He cautioned him, turned to Rankin and said, ‘Put the cuff’s on, Sergeant.’

  Dr Galbraith turned his head, and looked the inspector directly in the eye.

  ‘This has to be a mistake.’

  DI Gravel held his gaze… It really would feel good to smash the dirty bastard in the teeth. �
��Have you got something to say for yourself, Galbraith?’

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘I know exactly who you are, you smug bastard. My officers are going to search every inch of this fucking place, and you’re going to be locked up, Galbraith. Still feeling quite so confident?’

  The doctor looked away and blinked repeatedly as Rankin pulled each of his arms behind his back in turn, and secured the handcuff's tightly around his wrists. ‘I really fail to understand the reason for your hostility. You can search for as long as you wish. There’s nothing to find.’

  DI Gravel looked slowly around the room with interested eyes… Had the cunt’s self confidence slipped momentarily when he mentioned the search? Just for a fraction of a second? Maybe, just maybe?

  ‘Shall I take him to the car, boss?’

  ‘Leave him to me, Clive.’

  The DI took hold of the back of Dr Galbraith's shirt and manhandled him out of the study and down the hall with such speed that the doctor struggled to keep his footing. He rushed him down the hall, pushing him repeatedly in the back with his shoulder if he slowed.

  DI Gravel stopped abruptly on reaching the front-door, and shouted back into the house, ‘Rankin, bring that computer for the tech boy's to have a look at. Pam, you stay with Mrs Galbraith and the kids for the moment. Social services transport’s on the way. I want this fucking place searched from top to bottom. Every inch of it. If you find anything of interest, anything at all, I want to hear about it immediately. Are you all clear?’

  Following a chorus of, ‘Yes, sir!’ DI Gravel frogmarched the doctor out of the house, down the granite steps, into the quiet early morning street, and flung him into the back seat of the Vauxhall with such force that he skipped across the velour seat like a pebble on water, and bounced off the inside of the opposite door. DS Rankin placed the computer in the boot and drove, while the inspector sat immediately alongside his prisoner in the back.

  Rankin took what the inspector referred to as the scenic route, and it took them almost an hour to make the relatively short journey back to Caerystwyth police station. DI Gravel squeezed up close to the doctor, speaking directly into his ear at touching distance. ‘You're going down, Galbraith. You're going down for a long, long time. They are going to love you in prison, Galbraith. The guards don't protect your kind from the pack. They'll look the other way, Doctor. The inmates will tear your fucking balls off. That’s correct, isn't it, Sergeant.’

  ‘That’s right, sir, they'll kick his teeth out and use his mouth as an arse hole.’

  ‘They will, Sergeant. That’s what happens to nonces if they're not protected. But we could help, couldn't we, Sergeant?’

  ‘Well, I suppose we could, sir, if he made it worth our while? What do you say, Galbraith? Should we help you?’

  The doctor jerked, and twitched, and blinked, and sweated, as he fought to retain his composure. ‘I have absolutely no idea what this is about. If you really think that your predictable attempts to intimidate me into admitting to your ludicrous allegations will succeed, you are very sadly mistaken.’

  The inspector swivelled in his seat, and placed his face so close to the doctor’s that their foreheads touched. ‘Anything you want to tell us, Galbraith? Help us, and we’ll help you. We could have a word with the judge. We could make things easier for you in prison. That’s correct, isn't it, Sergeant.’

  ‘We could, sir, if he cooperates.’

  ‘So what do you say, Doctor? Are you going to make it easier on yourself?’

  Dr Galbraith closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them slowly and deliberately. ‘You two gentlemen appear to be under the misguided impression that I am something I am not. I have spent my entire career assisting children in crisis. I would have thought that was something to be applauded. I have absolutely no intention of saying another word until we are in a formal interview situation, when everything said is a matter of official record.’

  DI Gravel turned away form the doctor and sat back in his seat. ‘Let’s get him back to the station, Clive. It seems that Dr Galbraith doesn't want to talk to us.’

  DS Rankin parked in the busy police car park, and watched as his boss dragged the doctor out of the rear seat and marched him across the tarmac towards the cells. He locked the car, followed the two men into the custody suite, and held open a heavy steel door as DI Gravel pushed the doctor into a urine soaked cell lit only by a naked forty watt bulb that bathed the room in a depressing yellow hue. The doctor lost his balance, stumbled, and hit the wall directly opposite the door with an audible thud, before slumping to the floor. The inspector followed his prisoner into the concrete enclosure, and knelt down next to him as he moaned quietly to himself. ‘Throw me the key, Clive.’

  Rankin fumbled in one trouser pocket and then another, before eventually locating the small key amongst a collection of coins, and throwing it underarm to his boss, who caught it easily with one hand.

  DI Gravel flipped the doctor from his side and onto his front, before unlocking the handcuffs and throwing them back across the cell to the DS, who was still standing at the cell door.

  DI Gravel stared into the doctor’s eyes without blinking. ‘I’m going to leave you alone to think now, Doctor. This may give you some idea of what the future holds. I’d use the time wisely if I were you. Think carefully about what we’ve said to you. Help us, and things will well be easier for you. You can avoid answering our questions for as long as you want, but it won’t do you any favours. I’m in control now, Doctor. Anything you want to say for yourself?’

  ‘I am fully conversant with the rules of evidence, Inspector, and have already made it perfectly clear that I have absolutely no intention of saying anything further until I am formally interviewed. At that point my innocence should become clear, even to a man of your limited intellect. I will be making a formal complaint regarding my appalling treatment at your hands and that of your subordinate. You can be certain of that.’

  ‘You're sweating, Doctor. Are you starting to feel the pressure?’

  ‘For your information I have a slight fever. Two analgesics would be advisable, if you have them available?’

  ‘Have it your way, Galbraith. You’re not the only fucking pervert who’s been arrested this morning. And someone will talk. They always do. You are going to prison, Galbraith. It’s just a matter of how long for, and what happens when you get there. Think about that, Doctor. And think hard.’

  The doctor struggled upright and shook his head disdainfully… Control? Who were the morons trying to kid? If they'd found the little bastard, he’d have heard about it long before now.

  DI Gravel slammed the cell door shut behind him as he left. ‘Come on, Clive, I fancy a bacon roll with plenty of brown sauce. I’ll meet you in the canteen in about ten-minutes.’

  DI Gravel dialled with one hand, whilst squeezing the bridge of his nose between the thumb and index finger of the other… Come on one of you, pick up the fucking phone.

  ‘Hello, the Galbraith residence.’

  ‘The Galbraith’s residence? Is that you, Pam?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘For fucks sake, Pam. I thought you’d got a new job as a butler for a minute there.’

  ‘Sorry, sir, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m after an update, Pam. Any joy?’

  ‘Social services took longer to get here than expected. They're with Mrs Galbraith and the children now, sir. It looks like their about to leave. Mrs Galbraith’s putting the girls coats on as we speak.’

  ‘Did she say anything to you? Anything useful?’

  ‘Give me a second, sir. They're just going through the front door.’ The WPC waved and smiled as Elizabeth looked back at her on stepping out of the house.

  ‘Okay, sir, they're gone.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s not so much what she said, sir. It’s how she was. She's obviously terrified of the man.’

  ‘Galbraith?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I�
�ve seen it before: once confident women crushed by manipulative, dominant bullies. I don’t think she’s been out of the house unsupervised for years. I’ll be amazed if she tells us anything at all.’

  ‘You never know your luck, Pam. What about the girls?’

  ‘Not a word, sir, I hate to think what they've experienced in this house.’

  ‘How’s the search going?’

  ‘Give me a minute, sir, I’ll go and ask.’

  ‘Hello, sir, they've just finished in the study. They took everything out, even lifted the floorboards, but not a thing as yet. They’re moving onto the dining room next. It’s a large house, sir, it’s going to take a while.’

  ‘You're not wrong, Pam. Now you've finished your baby sitting duties you can give the others a hand. Ask Rob to confirm he collected something with Anthony Mailer’s scent from the father?’

  ‘Rob! The inspector want’s to know if you collected anything from Mr Mailer?’

  ‘Yeah, if the boy’s here, we'll find him.’

  ‘I heard all that thanks, Pam. Tell Rob I want him to let the dog loose and see if she comes up with anything. Every minute matters.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  ‘Straight away, Pam, I’ll be in the station canteen for the next twenty-minutes or so. Make sure you get hold of me immediately if there’s any news.’

  Chapter 44

  The agile young Spaniel sniffed every inch of the long corridor: bursting with energy and enthusiastic, tail up, super sensitive wet nose twitching, as she searched for the target scent amongst a myriad of other fascinating and potentially distracting smells.

  The dog handler walked closely behind his charge issuing constant encouragement: ‘Come on, girl, find.’ He held up the dog’s favourite yellow tennis ball, reminding her of her prospective reward should she succeed in her allocated task. ‘Come on, girl, that’s it, find, find.’

  The dog suddenly lost interest in the hall, and stood alert as if to attention, in the doorway to the large family kitchen.

  ‘What is it girl? Are you onto something?’ He held the ball high above his head in his left hand and smiled. ‘That’s it, girl, go on, find, find!’