The Sea Detective

by Mark Douglas-Home

  Soon the boat was out at sea, rolling with the swell. They came for Basanti first. He heard them untying her ropes, her pleas for mercy after they removed her gag, her begging Cal for forgiveness, her prayers for Preeti and their families, then his own screaming but only a strangulated squeal emerging. Then they took off Cal’s blindfold. There were two of them. They wore balaclavas, with only their eyes showing. Did they want him to witness what they were about to do? The taller one held Basanti under her arms; the other gripped her legs. Cal saw the fright on her lovely young face, her silent pleading for Cal to help her, and then she was gone, tumbling into the sea, a cry of terror, followed by a splash. He saw Basanti’s face once more, lit dimly by the sea’s phosphorescence, before it was lost in the darkness. Cal prayed she wouldn’t scream again and she did not.

  Now they started on Cal, working silently and methodically, untying his knots. They left the ones at his wrists till last, as he was being lifted up, as Basanti had been. He kicked out but he was held tight by strong hands. The gag was pulled from his mouth. He saw a shirt cuff: the same check the woman by the caravan had been wearing. Next he was in mid air. Then he was in the water, the cold shock of it making him gasp. His mouth and nose filled with it. When he surfaced the sound of the boat’s engine was faint and distant. He shouted for Basanti: the soft syllables of her name a small sound in a vast blackness. He listened for a reply but none came. Between calling and listening, he swam back towards where she had gone into the water.

  But the further he went, the more disorientated he became. The waves were bigger now and he was tired swimming against them. When exhaustion overcame him he trod water, crying out her name, over and over, turning one way then another. Finally, he let out a scream of rage and frustration before falling silent. It was then he realised he was caught in a strong current, the direction of which he calculated from a single distant light on the Argyllshire mainland east of him. The sea was pushing him south-west, and quickly. He’d been dropped into one of the tidal streams between the Firth of Lorn and Corrievrechan. For Preeti and Basanti it had been a drowning stream; and so it would be for him. He was too weak to swim across it or against it. It was pushing him further from land. All he could do was let it take him. Cal closed his eyes imagining his grandfather beside him, being his guide through the stages of drowning: the struggle after submersion, the physical exhaustion, the vomiting, and the loss of consciousness. After Basanti’s death he tried to resign himself to it as his fate, his atonement for failing her.

  A wave broke over him, filling his mouth with salt water and he surfaced again, choking. The sea was becoming a frenzy of little waves. A powerful downdraught buffeted him. Someone was shouting to him, a male voice, close to his ear, sliding a harness under his arms. Then he was free of the water. Hands grabbed at him. Then he was inside a helicopter. A survival blanket was wrapped around him, a mask placed over his face. A voice said, ‘You had us worried there. We thought we’d lost you, would have done without thermal imaging.’ The last thing he did before falling into unconsciousness was to call for Basanti.

  When he came round he was in hospital. A nurse was checking the monitor screens and Detective Constable Jamieson was sitting in a chair beside his bed. ‘We have signs of life,’ Jamieson said. ‘Welcome to the living, Cal.’

  ‘Where’s Basanti?’

  Jamieson asked the nurse to leave them alone. When she shut the door, Jamieson said, ‘We’ve told the media that a 17-year old female is missing, feared drowned.’

  Cal cried out, an echo of the scream that had stayed suppressed inside him since he felt Basanti close to him on the boat. Then he saw Jamieson was holding up a drawing of a hill and a tree on its left hand flank. ‘Dear Cal, Thank you so much, Love Basanti’ was written across the bottom of it.

  ‘She wanted you to have it,’ Jamieson smiled. ‘She’s alive. She’s fine. We picked her up before we got you. You were a bit more difficult to find. You had us worried there. The current had taken you away. We cut it fine but we couldn’t move any sooner because we didn’t know if they had Basanti until she was taken to the boat.’

  Cal looked uncomprehending. ‘But you said she had drowned.’

  ‘We’ve told the media she’s missing feared drowned because we didn’t want the men who abused her to think she’s alive. Not yet.’

  Jamieson told him the rest on the journey back to Edinburgh. She talked as she drove, though Cal wished she would do one or the other, not both. Most of the way her head was turned towards him instead of the road, or so it seemed to Cal. Quite quickly they settled into a routine. She briefed him on the investigation and he interrupted with warnings to her about sharp bends or slow moving tractors or caravans.

  The man and woman, husband and wife, who had thrown Cal and Basanti into the sea had been arrested and charged with attempted murder and a number of child sex offences. The police expected to charge them with Preeti’s murder in due course. They weren’t saying anything but Basanti was in protective custody and looking through the mug-shots of the country’s worst sex offenders. ‘There’ve been whispers before about children imported from countries like India or Bangladesh but we never had proof until now.’

  ‘Why go to all that bother? Aren’t there enough children here if you want to abuse one?’

  ‘It’s all about untraceability. Nobody notices a fourteen year old Bedia girl in India going missing. It happens every day, a young girl being sold into the sex trade. They’re disposable when you’re finished with them, and in this country they’re exotic with a high market value.’

  Cal drew her attention to a sharp left hander. Jamieson braked but less hard than Cal wanted.

  ‘Think of this operation …’ she braked again as the corner turned out to be longer than she anticipated, ‘as a bespoke import business serving a market where rarity commands a premium price. The customers are paedophiles, sex tourists, the ones on the sex offenders’ register we prohibit from travelling abroad because they’ll go to Thailand or India to abuse children. So the children are brought here for them instead.

  ‘In this case, Preeti and Basanti were installed in underground rooms in the two cottages by the bay. The men spent a week on holiday, a weekend, even a day or two, and nobody was any the wiser. Even if the police had been watching what would they have seen? None of the men approached any children or young girls locally because they didn’t need to. They had two captive in the cottages.’

  Jamieson also briefed Cal on the police search for the hill.

  ‘After you sent me Basanti’s drawing a helicopter went up and down the west coast taking pictures of hills with a single tree on their left sides. There were six possibilities between Oban and Stranraer. The Scottish Crime and Drug Enforcement Agency has been coordinating rotating surveillance operations at them all.

  ‘That headland was a favourite, though your phone call and the email you forwarded from DLG confirmed it for us. The landscape was right and so was the proximity of the bay to the cottages. As luck would have it we were at another site when Basanti went to it.

  ‘And we checked back. Before Preeti’s death, there had been a police operation to recover bales of cannabis washing ashore up and down the Firth of Lorn. God knows where they came from. We suspect that’s why Preeti was dumped at sea and Basanti was taken outside and left chained to the rock. When the police cars came down the road to the headland in the middle of the night the alarm went up. Our friends must have thought it was a raid on the cottages. The quickest way of getting rid of Preeti was to dump her in the sea. They didn’t have time with Basanti because the second cottage was too far back from the bay so they did what they could in the time they had.’

  Now they were on the motorway and Cal was more relaxed. At least the road was straight. ‘It makes a kind of sense,’ he said, ‘to throw someone alive into the sea far enough from land, or into a strong adverse current. So many bodies sink to the bottom and don’t resurface for years if at all. If they do, they can dr
ift for miles, sometimes thousands of miles, away from the scene, and who’s to say they didn’t just drown in an accident.’

  They didn’t speak for a while until Cal said, ‘Thank you, by the way.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I saw the papers, about the severed feet, the way you cut Ryan out of it and let the Italians take the credit, and me.’

  ‘It was a pleasure.’ Jamieson beamed.

  By now they’d left the motorway and were travelling through Corstorphine in West Edinburgh. A delivery lorry was edging out into the flow of traffic. Cal had seen it but Jamieson hadn’t. ‘Look out!’ he shouted and then in pent up frustration he said, ‘Just drive; please just drive.’

  Neither spoke for a few minutes, though Jamieson continued to watch him. Finally, she said, ‘Look, there’s something you need to know.’ She indicated left and drove into the gates of a hotel beside the zoo. Two police cars and a taxi with its engine running were parked away from the hotel patrons’ cars. Jamieson pulled up beside them. ‘My boss wants to have a word.’

  ‘Detective Inspector Ryan?’

  ‘No, I’ve a new boss. Chief Inspector Richard Beacom.’ She paused, ‘I’ve been seconded full-time to the SCDEA, to be Basanti’s liaison officer. I worked in an Indian orphanage in my 20s, so I was given the job. Basanti’s probably one of the most important witnesses we’ve ever had. She’ll be in witness protection for years, possibly the rest of her life. Change of name, the works.’

  ‘Won’t Ryan mind you going to the SCDEA?’ Cal asked.

  ‘He’ll mind all right.’ Jamieson whooped with the joy of it.

  A slight man with long, swept-back greasy blond hair, a sharp face, small mouth, stubble and a slanting frown line on his forehead approached their car. ‘That’s him, my new boss,’ Jamieson said. She lowered her voice. ‘Doesn’t look like much but wow he’s hot.’ Jamieson suddenly became flustered. ‘I didn’t mean in that way.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Cal said.

  ‘Yes; obviously.’ Jamieson laughed too, loudly. ‘I mean if I had I wouldn’t … well you know. And I haven’t, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Cal said again which irked Jamieson.

  She opened her window. ‘Hello, boss’.

  ‘Introduce us if you would, Helen?’

  He called me Helen.

  Beacom, who was wearing a leather jacket, jeans and a blue shirt, opened the back door behind Jamieson and got into the car. Cal guessed he was in his late 30s.

  ‘Boss this is Cal McGill. Cal, Chief Inspector Richard Beacom.’

  The Chief Inspector leaned over offering Cal his hand. ‘It’s Richard by the way.’

  His accent was Glasgow private school.

  Cal nodded.

  ‘There’s something we’d like you to do,’ Beacom said, ‘if you feel up to it.’

  Cal looked at Jamieson. ‘It’s your choice,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Beacom said, ‘The guys who run this child trafficking racket are trying to close things down. An address in Glasgow was firebombed last night – we think it’s where Basanti was held. We’ve had reports of some of Basanti’s clients – if I can call them that – being beaten up, baseball bats, razors, you name it, to stop them saving their own skins and blabbing if and when we bring them in. A couple of them are in hospital too scared to talk. The frighteners are going on. They’re doing what they can to slam the door on us.’

  Just in case Cal needed it spelled out, Beacom said, ‘It’s big. Child trafficking and sex abuse on an industrial scale. We need to get these bastards. Fast.’

  He took a cigarette pack out of his jacket pocket and offered it to Cal. ‘Do we share a bad habit?’

  Cal declined.

  ‘You don’t mind do you Helen?’

  ‘No Sir.’

  Yes sir, but not if you call me Helen.

  Cal said, ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘There’s a chance …’ Beacom elongated the word and spread his lips into a grimace to signal how small a chance it was, ‘they don’t know what we’ve got. We’ve told the media a seventeen year old female is missing, feared drowned. But we haven’t said anything about you or about the two arrests we’ve made. We’re assuming they know we’ve got their people from the headland, which is why they’re taking precautions, but we’re not sure they know you’re with us. We don’t even know if they’re aware you were with Basanti in Argyll.’

  He paused. ‘Do you follow?’

  Cal said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s say they think their guys disposed of Basanti before they were arrested. Let’s say they believe she’s dead. So that leaves you as Basanti’s only contact on the outside. They’ll worry that she gave you dates, descriptions, whatever. They’ll want to eliminate that possibility.’

  ‘You mean eliminate me?’

  ‘These guys are desperate …’

  ‘But if they don’t know I was in Argyll why would they think I know Basanti at all? Why would they make a connection?’

  Beacom glanced at Jamieson.

  She said, ‘Shall I, sir?’

  He nodded.

  ‘They were waiting for her at your flat.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When she left it on her way to the bus station to go to Argyll. They were staking out The Cask. They almost got her too. If she hadn’t taken one of your kitchen knives she’d be dead by now.’

  ‘But nobody knew she was staying there,’ Cal protested, ‘apart from you.’

  Jamieson ignored Cal’s implication. ‘And they were waiting for her at Kilninver. She walked into a trap. She’s sure of it. They were expecting her.’

  ‘But I didn’t even know about Kilninver until she’d gone there?’

  Jamieson glanced at Beacom who shook his head. The gesture said lead him there, let him discover the answer for himself, let him realise the mistake he made.

  ‘Who else did you tell about her drawing of the hill?’ Jamieson said.

  ‘I emailed the Omoo crowd.’

  Jamieson nodded, encouraging him along that line of thought.

  ‘No way.’

  ‘We think so. Whoever it was would have known as soon as they saw Basanti’s drawing. He’d have known she’d been in touch with you.’

  Cal put his head in his hands. ‘Shit. And when DLG sent the email identifying the drawing they’d have seen that too. His email was copied to everyone in Omoo.’

  ‘Do you know who it might be?’ Beacom asked.

  Cal shook his head.

  ‘Basanti will get us the guys who abused her,’ Beacom said. ‘And maybe they’ll lead us to other kids like her, though if we don’t get to them soon we’ll be pulling more dead bodies out of the sea. But Basanti never saw the faces of the guys who ran the show. We need to get to them a different way.’

  Beacom leaned forward. ‘Let me put a proposition to you …’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘You’re not exactly flavour of the month with people like me are you?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘How can I put this … the police have a few issues with you, trampling over ministers’ gardens, assisting the Italians with the severed feet inquiry, breaking into museums. Do you think that’s fair?

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘If the guys we’re after didn’t know you were in Argyll, they’d think you were pretty high up the police grudge list. Which means they might not be expecting you to have protection. Which also means they might come for you if they think you’re alone.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  They spoke for another half an hour. Beacom was meticulous in his briefing, checking at every stage that Cal understood what was expected of him and the various contingencies for which the police had prepared: all of them as far as Cal could tell. ‘Any further questions?’ Beacom asked at the end.

  Cal shook his head.

  ‘Do what we’ve outlined and you’ll b
e fine.’ Beacom offered Cal his hand again. ‘Good luck.’

  Jamieson accompanied Cal to the taxi. ‘You ok?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. ‘

  But there was something different about him. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure.’

  In case Cal still wasn’t convinced about the Omoo link, she said, ‘It gave whoever we’re after a perfect cover for sussing out remote sites for bringing trafficked children ashore, and for identifying isolated cottages. Whoever it is in the Omoo group might not be a ring-leader; he might only be a gofer but we need to find him. Ok?’

  ‘Ok.’

  She opened the taxi door. ‘Be careful,’ she said. ‘They may be watching your flat. We don’t think so, but it’s possible. Stick to the plan and you’ll be fine.’

  Cal didn’t reply.

  Jamieson said to the driver, ‘You know where you’re going?’

  ‘The Cask, in Granton.’

  When the taxi was leaving the car park Cal realised he had no money for the fare. ‘I’ve got no cash.’

  ‘Don’t worry mate. I’m not a cabbie. I’m a cop.’ The driver pulled a face at Cal in his rear view mirror. ‘So no tip then …’

  Chapter 29

  Cal wrote the email as Chief Inspector Beacom instructed.

  Hi Everyone,

  I’m home again, bruised and a bit battered after recent events. I assume you’ve read about them so I guess elaboration isn’t necessary. Give me a few days to sort myself and I’ll be back in action, relying on you guys for occasional assistance, as ever.

  Cal

  He read it through and clicked send.

  He remained sitting at his computer looking at the twelve addresses of his Omoo contacts to which it had been dispatched. Which of them would it be?