by Alison James
‘I expect I took it out when I polished inside the cabinet. I wouldn’t have been drinking from it, not that stuff.’ She pulled a face.
‘Do you remember seeing it anywhere else in the house? You didn’t find it in one of the student rooms when you cleaned, for example?’
Valerie shook her head firmly. ‘Not that one, no. But I did find the other one.’
‘The other one?’
‘There were two bottles of that stuff, the Southern…’
‘Southern Comfort.’
‘Yes. The one in the drinks cabinet that was always there. And then the empty one that I found downstairs by the bin in the refectory.’
‘Let me get this straight – there were two bottles of Southern Comfort? And the one in the student quarters was completely empty?’
‘Yes, that’s correct. Can I go now?’ Her voice trembled and her face had an unhealthy pallor.
This was more than just routine nerves. Rachel held up a hand. ‘Just a couple more things, do you remember what you did with it?’
‘I put it out in the blue recycling bin. It would have been taken the next Friday.’
‘And you really can’t remember the name of the person who gave you the work in Grange? Please think very hard.’
‘I’ve tried: I don’t remember. Like I said, my memory’s not what it was.’
Rachel’s phone started vibrating insistently. She arranged a car to take Valerie home, then checked it. Four missed calls from Joe, and a follow-up text.
Something huge has happened. Call me!
Thirty-Four
Joe and Charlie both talked at once when Rachel arrived at the flat.
‘Slow down; one at a time.’
Charlie nodded at Joe. ‘You tell her. She’s your mum.’
Joe led her over to the sofa, clearing a pile of football kit off it so that they could both sit down. ‘You remember Charlie was going to check that dark web forum we found, for updates? Well they’re holding another of their special parties. And guess what… it’s tonight.’
‘At Grange Loan Terrace?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘No, it’s in Morningside.’
‘Can you show me?’
Charlie pulled up a page on his laptop. Rachel made a mental note of the address: 141 Hellebore Drive. She would speak to Morag straight away; arrange for surveillance on the property.
‘It’s going to be dead exciting.’ Joe beamed.
Rachel felt a shiver of alarm run down her spine. She put her hand on the sofa arm to steady herself. ‘What do you mean? Are you saying someone’s invited you?’
‘No, they were advertising for “fresh-looking” waiters,’ Joe made air quotes, ‘aged eighteen to twenty-one. And we signed up. We thought we could go and, like, spy for you. Like an undercover operation.’ He couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice.
Rachel shook her head vigorously. ‘No. Out of the question. Young people your age have been drugged and raped at these parties.’
‘But we’d be together. We’d be fine.’
‘Absolutely not. I’d be incredibly irresponsible as a parent if I let you go. What would Nick and Jane have to say about it? These people are predatory and they’re dangerous. I’ll definitely pass this information on to the team though: it could turn out to be extremely helpful.’
‘But Rachel—’
‘Joe – it’s a no. That’s my final word.’
* * *
At 9.50 p.m., Brickall and Rachel arrived in Morningside in an unmarked car. Brickall slid it into Hellebore Drive as unobtrusively as possible, taking up position within sight of the entrance to number 141. It was a double-fronted house with a gabled roof, set back from the road. The windows gave off a muted glow, through which the loud bass thump of music was just audible, and a row of flares lit the front path. At 10 p.m., guests started to arrive in ones and twos, hurrying up to the front door, some wearing carnival masks or with hoods pulled over their faces. Some even went so far as to drape their coats over the heads, like accused criminals arriving at court.
‘Here we go,’ Brickall said suddenly. ‘I think we have a couple of… what do they call them?’
‘Young Friends,’ said Rachel, with a shiver of revulsion.
Two girls no older than their mid-teens approached the front of the house, giggling together. They wore short skirts and had made a lot of effort with their hair and make-up, stopping under the light of the front porch to check their reflections in their phone screens. Just as they would if they were going to a party with their peers. The door opened a fraction and they disappeared inside. ‘Maybe we should go in now,’ Rachel said.
Brickall shook his head. ‘We don’t have any grounds for arrest, and we don’t have a warrant. People are entitled to hold a party in a private residence. And for all we know, those girls could just be there to wash glasses.’
‘Come on – you saw the way they were dressed!’
‘Leave it a bit longer, give things a chance to warm up.’
As he spoke, two familiar figures in black trousers and white shirts ambled up the path and were admitted through the front door.
‘Christ, I don’t believe it!’ Rachel slapped on the dashboard. ‘Joe and Charlie! After I told them not to.’ She reached for the car door, but Brickall restrained her. ‘Hold on a sec, who’s this?’
A tall male figure emerged along the side path from the direction of the back door and walked briskly away from the property, seemingly in a hurry.
‘Is that…?’ Rachel tensed and leaned forward, but whoever it was continued onto the pavement and disappeared along the street, their identity obscured by deep shadows. She turned to Brickall. ‘Okay, come on – I’m not leaving my son in that place.’
‘Hold your horses. If you go rushing in there now, the whole party will fold, and it’s only just started.’
‘But—’
‘They’re eighteen, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So they’re technically adults. They’re allowed to go to a party.’
‘Not if they’re at risk of harm.’
Brickall sighed. ‘Okay, how about we give it thirty minutes? They’re sensible lads, and they know you’ve flagged up that this party’s happening. If anything worries them, I’m sure Joe will ring you.’
Rachel sighed. ‘Thirty minutes. That’s it.’
She refused the offer of Brickall’s cheese and onion crisps, instead fidgeting and checking her watch continually for the next twenty minutes.
‘Look!’ said Brickall suddenly. ‘Did you see that?’
In one of the front upstairs windows, a light was flashing on and off in a deliberate rhythm.
‘That looks like some sort of distress signal,’ Rachel said, scrabbling at the passenger door. ‘We need to get in there!’
She leapt out of the car and started to run up the drive, but Brickall was too quick for her, intercepting her with a rugby tackle and dragging her forcibly back to the vehicle.
‘No!’ He spoke with uncharacteristic sternness. ‘If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly. Otherwise you’re going to risk all sorts of trouble. And I – for one – do not want to end up being suspended again.’ He reached for the car’s radio handset and called the nearest mobile unit, stressing the importance of arriving on silent. ‘Wait!’ he told Rachel sharply as she tried to get out of the car again. ‘Backup’s on its way. Two minutes.’
* * *
A squad car with two uniformed officers arrived a few minutes later, minus sirens, and parked next to their vehicle. Brickall walked over to speak to them, then came back and stuck his head through the open passenger window.
‘I’m going in, but you need to stay here.’
‘But—’
‘Forget it, Prince. You’re too emotionally involved; you’d be more of a hindrance than a help.’
She nodded, and watched helplessly as Brickall and the two constables approached the front of the house. They banged on
the door, and when there was no reply, one of them fetched an enforcer from the boot of the patrol car and hit it hard on the door’s inside edge until it gave way.
There was an agonising wait. To Rachel it felt like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes. Eventually the front door opened. A few people attempted to leave, but were prevented from doing so by the uniformed police officers. Then the radio set crackled into life, and Rachel heard a disembodied voice request an ambulance and TAU. Within minutes, a tactical aid unit vehicle roared up, this time with blue lights and sirens, closely followed by an ambulance. Paramedics jumped out and walked quickly to the house, carrying their red kit bags, accompanied by half a dozen armed police officers.
Rachel could stand it no longer. She jumped out of the car and ran to the front door, just as two figures emerged through it, dressed in white shirts and black ties. Joe and Charlie.
‘Joe!’
She only just managed to keep from hurling herself at him. ‘Jesus, Joe… I thought I told you not to go!’ She was half-shouting, her relief making her incoherent. ‘Are you both okay?’
Joe gave her a weak smile. ‘Yeah, we’re fine.’
‘Go and sit in the car, I’ll be back in a minute.’
In the hallway, Brickall was watching as a stretcher was carried downstairs. One of the young girls was lying on it under a blanket, eyes closed, one arm flung out at a strange angle. A policeman helped the other girl as she stumbled down the stairs, wide-eyed with shock.
‘We found one of them in the bedroom, out of it, and about to be sexually assaulted.’ Brickall said quietly. ‘Presumably for the benefit of a camera. We’re getting a SOCO down here to check. IB unit, they call it here.’
Rachel groaned. ‘We should have gone in sooner.’
Brickall shook his head firmly. ‘We got there just in time: she’s not come to any serious physical harm. And if we’d gone in any earlier, we’d probably never have caught them at it. That evidence is going to be vital.’
A few partygoers were attempting to sidle towards the open front door. Quick as a flash, Rachel stopped them, motioning to an armed officer to block their exit.
‘Oh no you don’t! All of you are under arrest, under the Protection of Children and Prevention of Sexual Offences Act. And –’ she ripped the mask off a distinguished-looking man with white hair – ‘we need to see your faces.’
More guests were being led down the stairs, all of them middle-aged and well-dressed. ‘I’ll wait for the fun bus to arrive and take this lot away,’ Brickall said to Rachel. ‘You go and check on your lad.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah, go on. I’ve got this.’
Rachel gave him a grateful smile and slipped out to the car, where the boys were sitting in the back seat.
‘I’m really hungry,’ was the first thing Joe said.
‘Me too.’ Charlie nodded.
‘We can go and get something to eat in a minute,’ Rachel said. ‘I just need to wait until the place has been cleared.’
‘And we can’t leave until we’ve got our phones back anyway,’ Joe said. ‘They took them off as us soon as we arrived. So we couldn’t text you.’
‘But you were okay? Nobody tried to… molest you?’
‘This one guy did put his hand on Charlie’s arse,’ said Joe. ‘But he told him to fuck off. The woman in charge of the staff—’
‘Do you know what she was called?’
Joe shook his head. ‘No, she never said, it was all very anonymous. No names, no pack-drill. But I’d definitely recognise her.’
‘Anyway, she told us off,’ said Charlie. ‘Apparently we weren’t being “friendly” enough to the guests...’
‘And then we spotted a girl being taken upstairs, looking completely stoned. We couldn’t phone you or anything. That was when I got the idea to flash the lights on and off. In case the place was being watched.’
‘It worked,’ Rachel said, with a grudging smile. ‘But you still shouldn’t have gone.’
‘We wanted to try and look through people’s coat pockets to see if we could find their names, but they took the coats and locked them away,’ Charlie said.
‘But I did recognise someone,’ said Joe. He was watching out of the window, fascinated, as the partygoers were led out in handcuffs and put in the back of a police bus that had just arrived. ‘Whoah – Charlie look at that! Proper Line of Duty stuff.’
‘I know. So cool.’
‘Who did you recognise?’ Rachel prompted.
‘That friend of yours.’
She stared at him blankly.
‘You know, the guy we met the other night on our way back from dinner. The Irish guy.’
Thirty-Five
Rachel swivelled round in the front seat so she was looking straight at Joe.
‘You mean Giles?’
‘Yeah, that’s the one. He was one of the guests.’
Rachel’s felt her stomach drop, sharply. The faces of the boys blurred for a couple of seconds.
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
‘One hundred per cent. It was when we were handing out the welcome drinks. Only when he saw me looking at him, he must have left, because I didn’t see him again.’
‘You two, just wait here a second…’
She climbed out of the car and marched over to the police bus. There were around fifteen shocked-looking men inside, none of them Giles. There was no sign inside the house, where the TAU officers were carrying out a thorough search under the watchful eye of her Detective Sergeant.
‘I thought you’d gone,’ Brickall said accusingly.
‘The boys’ mobile phones are here somewhere; I said I’d ask for them… you haven’t seen Giles Denton, have you?’ she added, with forced nonchalance.
‘Denton? No – why would he be here? You decided not to involve him.’
‘Thought word might have got back to him… keep an eye out for those phones will you, and text me when you’ve found them.’
* * *
Rachel dropped the boys at Charlie’s flat, stopping en route to pick up McDonald’s burgers for them. Then, sitting in the car in Dundas Street, she phoned Giles’s number. It rang out. She threw the car into gear and drove back to the hotel.
‘I’m afraid we can’t give out guests’ information,’ a bored receptionist told Rachel when she asked for Giles’s room number, not even looking up from her screen. Rachel lowered her warrant card into the woman’s line of vision.
‘Room 315. But Mr Denton’s just phoned down to say he’s checking out,’ she said, her eyes still on her screen. ‘He’s asked me to call him a taxi.’ The receptionist finally looked up, turning to squint at the clock on the wall behind her. ‘About… fifteen minutes ago. It should be here any minute.’
Rachel hurried to the lift and hit the button for the third floor, running down the maze of carpeted corridors until she found Room 315. She hammered on the door. It swung open. Giles turned away silently and sat down on the edge of the bed without meeting her eyes. He was dressed in a well-cut black suit, smart black loafers and a pale lilac shirt, open at the neck. His half-packed case was on the floor at his feet.
‘Good party was it?’ Rachel spat.
‘Look, Rachel, sweetheart…’
He stood up and came towards her, but she backed away. He returned to his perch on the edge of the bed, placing shoes and a wash bag into the case and zipping it up.
‘I could tell you I was there undercover, but that would be a lie,’ he said quietly. ‘And the last thing I want to do is lie to you.’
She folded her arms across her chest. ‘So go on then Giles… what were you doing there?’
‘I told you about my mate who lives here – the architect?’
‘What’s his name?’ Giles did a double take as Rachel pulled out a notebook. ‘Oh, didn’t you know? We’ve arrested everyone there. So I can easily check your story, against my list.’
‘Fairlie. Peter Fairlie. Look, Peter asked me i
f I wanted to go with him to a party. It was an unfamiliar address – you know, not Grange Loan Terrace – so I didn’t think anything of it. It was only when I got there and I saw that it was all single men, some in masks, that the penny dropped. And then I saw your boy… Joe… coming through the front door with another lad, and I was… mortified. I left straight away, by the side entrance. I didn’t even find Peter to tell him I was going.’
The vaguely familiar figure they saw leaving, Rachel thought. That had been Giles. ‘I’m going to ask you something – something I won’t be able to check up on – and I need you to answer it honestly. Did you know that this friend had an interest in sex with underage girls? Or boys.’
Giles sighed heavily and looked down at his feet. ‘Yes. Well no, not the underage bit. But I mean, he was always a hard partier, and his private life was a bit… colourful. He always had an eye for a pretty young girl.’
‘So as a Child Protection Officer, you still thought it was okay to go to a party with a friend you knew this about?’ Rachel spat the words. ‘You didn’t see the massive conflict of interest looming? The compromise to your career?’
‘Get down off your high horse, will you? Your own son was there, for God’s sake!’
‘And I had no idea about that until it was too late. Of course I didn’t!’ Rachel said hotly.
‘It’s okay, you don’t need to convince me. But surely you can accept that my agreeing to go along was a mistake? A huge fecking mistake. And that all I feel now is utter shame. It’s a mess. A horrible mess.’
Giles was right. She didn’t know what was making her feel worse: the fact that her new love interest had attended a party for ‘Young Friends’, effectively torpedoing their relationship, or that her own son had been there, putting himself at risk. Her brain felt like a Newton’s cradle, veering in one direction then the opposite. She sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing her eyes so hard with the heel of her hand that it hurt.
