The Depths

by Catriona King

  “Fuckers!”

  Craig was outraged too but they needed to maintain focus. “Explain the logistics to us, Davy.”

  “I’m just pulling the details of each case now, chief. I searched for disappearances where no dead body was ever found and there were no viable s…suspects, so these cases are all still marked open, they’ve just hit dead ends.”

  “You think we could be looking at a ring, don’t you? An abduction ring with the children stolen to order.”

  The analyst nodded. “And they only take the very young because if even one kid remembered their past life it could blow everything.”

  “Taken for adoption, boss?”

  “Hopefully, Liam. Although like I said earlier, with Bella Westbury there was another reason as well. I’m sure of it.”

  Davy nodded. “Adoption is the most logical reason but… we can’t completely rule out an age preferential paedophile ring.”

  Craig palmed his face in despair and said nothing for a moment, so his deputy filled the gap.

  “The level of organisation this would have taken is crazy.”

  The analyst responded by bringing up a fresh screen showing the airports closest to each of the twenty-odd abduction sites, and then superimposed all of their departure routes to the United States.

  Craig’s mouth fell open in astonishment.

  “Every abduction happened near an airport that flew into Boston?”

  Davy nodded slowly. “Every s…single one. I cross-matched all the flight routes worldwide available at the time of each abduction, including those from an airport so small it only flew to anywhere twice a week, and the only destination available from every s…single airport was Boston, Massachusetts.”

  Craig was stunned by the arrogance it had taken to transport abducted children to a country with tight laws and an extradition treaty with the UK.

  “Shit. That’s where Bella flew into as well, boss.”

  Craig felt sick. “You know what this tells us, Davy.”

  The analyst nodded his head.

  “Boston is twenty-two percent Irish American, the highest percentage of any city in the USA; next biggest is Pittsburgh with sixteen. S…So if the abductors have Irish connections, north or south, they would blend in immediately. And as English speakers they wouldn’t stand out in most of Europe either-”

  Liam cut across him. “They were reckoning they could hide in plain sight. Time to bring in the trafficking team, boss?”

  Craig shook his head sharply. “No, no, not yet, not until we have actual proof. At the moment, while this is brilliant work, it’s all still circumstantial. Maybe abducted children, maybe linked to each other with maybe a link to Boston…maybe Blaine Westbury killed Stuart Kincaid who was maybe on to something, it’s all maybes…”

  He shook his head again more slowly. “No. We need a definite way in. Some key that opens this up for us so we can say for certain what we’ve got.” He stared hard at his head analyst. “My money’s on you and Ash here, Davy.” A gleam of enthusiasm lit the younger man’s eyes. “There’s something here that we’re still missing, so get back to it and find out what it is.”

  As the door closed quickly behind the analyst Craig returned to his earlier point.

  “What do we know about Blaine Westbury, Liam? From the beginning.”

  “Thirty-eight-year-old loser. Ruined his parents’ lives with his petty crime and debt, always broke yet never claimed his inheritance, and probably killed Stuart Kincaid.”

  The summary made Craig smile. “Succinct. Right, let’s look at that piece by piece. Broke but didn’t claim his inheritance, and if he killed Kincaid he didn’t do that for money either. He didn’t even steal his credit card.”

  “He might have worried any transactions could have been traced to him. But if he took Kincaid’s watch that’s worth something.”

  “Only if he sold it which I don’t think he did.”

  “OK, then he might have gone looking for something else to sell in Kincaid’s luggage.”

  Craig made a face. “I’m not saying a definite no, but it doesn’t feel right. Blaine could have used Kincaid’s card several times quite safely before anyone had known he was dead yet we know he didn’t, and he was probably wearing Kincaid’s watch when he went to the hotel. So…if a gambler and waster doesn’t need money, that can only mean one thing.”

  “Two. He’s either taken a vow of poverty, or he’s already got enough from somewhere. That means…” The D.C.I. raised his eyes to the ceiling and reeled off the standard list, “…rich friends, drugs, theft, tax rebate, job, legal or illegal-”

  Craig cut him off. “The first and last. Drugs are risky, a tax rebate’s too slow, he’s too lazy for a legal job, and theft would involve the cops fast. Either Blaine’s hooked up with a rich group or a rich partner or he’s doing something nasty to generate cash. It could even be both. But if he has set himself up in some crooked business he’ll have needed capital to start.”

  “OK, so we need to see his tax and bank accounts from here and abroad.”

  “Yep, but Davy and Ash are already overloaded so let’s pay Ray that visit and give the other section I supposedly manage some work to do. We need tax details, bank accounts, and immigration and travel info for Master Blaine.”

  ****

  The Atlantic Way Merchant Bank. Dublin.4 p.m.

  Róisín Casey was considering not only her future but her existence more carefully than ever before. She would be in mortal danger from her business partners unless she complied with their instructions, and if they didn’t decide to kill her they could still take everything that she possessed with a single click of a mouse.

  The knowledge had urged her to discuss things with the one person who really mattered to her in the group, but he was in agreement with the others so the conversation had left her with a serious decision to make alone.

  Did she cut and run elsewhere without him before everything unravelled? True, she would be lonely and risking future poverty but she would still be free.

  Or did she do as she’d been told, not asked? Kill anyone left who could cause problems for their venture, namely Arthur, and stay put trusting that the cops would be too stupid to follow through any leads.

  The first option guaranteed that half the world would be off limits to her forever if she valued her liberty and she would probably die alone in some rat-ridden hole, the second that she might just keep her life, the man she loved and her income and luxuries, but only if the police really were as thick as shit. For a woman only skilled in risk analysis when all other factors were equal it was an impossible choice; like balancing the chances of contracting malaria against the future price of beans. Interestingly the immorality of killing didn’t even enter into the banker’s equation, but then if she’d possessed morals it’s doubtful that Róisín would ever have got where she was.

  But the financier’s struggle was wasted because the decision was about to be made for her, unwittingly, and by a man she’d manipulated for years using a combination of sex and fear, creating a hold so strong that he was completely dependent on her now.

  As Arthur Norris claimed his belongings and left High Street Station he missed the car tailing his taxi, so engrossed was he on his mobile phone. Heaving a sigh of relief that he’d managed to keep his mouth shut for so long that the police had been forced to release him, and then one of pleasure that he would get to boast of his stoicism to the woman that he’d done it for, his first call wasn’t to his wife of forty years but to Róisín Casey’s pay-as-you-go mobile, although as he’d suspected it might be the line was dead.

  It had happened before when Róisín was in one of her Greta Garbo moods, but the land agent’s need for praise was greater than any respect for her solitude so his next call was to the switchboard of The Atlantic Way Merchant Bank.

  Davy Walsh hunched over his desk listening as the call was answered briskly and Norris asked to be transferred to a particular extension number, and then as a woma
n on the other end first said her name, “Róisín Casey” and then, when the first syllable of “Hello” emerged from Norris’ mouth, as she immediately cut the call.

  They had her! They had the woman who’d called to shout at Arthur Norris as if she ruled him and had lied to the Rownton sergeant to find him, the women who’d almost certainly ordered the cover-up on Derek Morrow’s death, the woman who’d done God only knew what else.

  As soon as the phone went down Davy reverse-checked its number, tying it to the bank’s branch in Dublin Docklands, and while he listened to Norris call again he pulled up an internet search on a Ms Róisín Casey, the bank’s Vice President of Mergers and Acquisitions.

  He clicked open her company biography, complete with smirking photo, and sent it across to his junior with the instruction to, “Check her pic against that woman’s passport”, then he stopped listening to Norris for a moment and called Craig.

  He caught the two detectives just as they were leaving the Police Intelligence Section, Ray Barrett having been suitably briefed.

  “Yes, Davy.”

  “Norris did it, chief, he called her! Her name’s Róisín Casey and she’s high up in The Atlantic Way Merchant Bank in Dublin. VP at their Docklands branch. I’ve got Ash running her photo against the woman’s passport now.”

  Craig punched the air. “Brilliant! Get that info to D.C.I. Barrett, and say we want the same on her as he’s getting for us on Blaine Westbury. Movements and money. I want to know what she’s been up to.”

  As they reached the car he set his mobile on the roof and put it on speaker. “Right, tell us exactly what was said on Norris’ call, Davy.”

  “Hang on a second, chief. Ash is waving at me.” He covered the receiver for a moment. “Are you about to say the passport woman’s Róisín Casey?”

  “Yep. No doubt.”

  He uncovered the phone. “Casey’s the woman who flew out of Rome, boss.”

  Craig gave a gasp of relief. They were heading the right way.

  He realised that Davy was still speaking and grinned at the eagerness in his voice.

  “OK, so Norris had just got into his taxi when he tried her burn mobile, but it was dead, like you’d expect if the battery’s been taken out. Oh, by the way Mary got a clear pic of him from McGrans’ store CCTV. Anyway, then st…straightaway Norris rang the bank switchboard and asked for extension three-ten. It’s their offices in Dublin’s Docks. Anyway, Casey answered with her name but Norris hardly got out ‘Hello’ before she hung up. He’s been calling the extension back since but it’s dialling out.”

  Liam smirked. “She’s worried someone’ll trace her, boss. Why else cut the call?”

  “Agreed. She already guessed we’d got hold of Norris, that’s why she called Rownton station, and now she’s terrified that he’ll lead us to her. Davy, tell them to lift Norris again, and redirect Aidan to High Street to face him with Casey’s name and see what he says. Liam and I will head for the labs.”

  As the detectives began their next steps, Róisín Casey was taking her rage out on her shoes again, but only for a minute this time; the situation had grown too serious for even a spectacular tantrum to solve. If the police had been listening then Arthur had just led them straight to her, and even if they hadn’t there was no telling what the stupid bastard might tell them once he realised she wouldn’t be taking any more of his calls. No one liked being dropped and in her experience men reacted particularly unpredictably.

  Either way she could never reach Arthur in time to kill him now, so her options had just narrowed to one; skip the country. But she wasn’t prepared to lose the man that she loved so she had to find some way of making him understand that they both had to go. They’d had a great time in Europe while it had lasted but now it was time to cut and run somewhere better for their health. Luckily they had contacts all over the world.

  But Craig had other plans, and after a moment’s discussion Liam got on the buzzer to Garda Headquarters to request their assistance in a case that if they were right might involve police forces in half the world.

  The D.C.I. strolled away into the distance as he was talking and when he returned to the car he was wearing a smug smile.

  “That was a bit of luck. I’ve just spoken to an old mate of mine.”

  “Anyone I’d know?”

  “Probably not.”

  Liam had encountered half the cops in Ireland during his career whereas Craig had worked in London for fifteen years.

  “His name’s Pat Goodall. Used to be my D.I. in Newry way back. He was always talking about moving down south and it looks like he finally made it. He’s a Superintendent in the Garda in Dublin now. Sound man, but a lousy Gaelic player.”

  The ultimate insult. Liam was skilled in almost every sport that involved a ball; except for cricket, because the bat handles were too small for his giant hands.

  “I’m surprised the Garda took him then.”

  The comment had been so dry Liam had to check Craig’s face to see how it had been meant.

  “Oh, I see. Very droll. Anyway, Pat’s just checked and he says Madam Casey’s got two outstanding speeding tickets handily enough, so he’s going to bring her in for a long chat.”

  “Two hours long by any chance?”

  The time it would take for them to drive from Belfast to Dublin.

  “Three to four I’d say. I told him we had to go and check some forensics first.”

  “Excellent. We’d better get to the lab then.”

  Ten minutes later a shame-faced Craig was standing in Des Marsham’s office, with the head of forensics giving him a chastising look that he knew had nothing to do with their investigation but everything to do with his overnighter in the cells.

  His first play was a curt remark. “Does it really take three of you to look at the contents of some suitcases?”

  Liam answered for all of them. “We’re a close team.”

  “But not necessarily a loyal one.”

  The dig made Craig wince and his deputy wasn’t having it.

  “Here now, there’s no need for that. I’ve been on to Lord Whatshisname’s butler about any damages and the boss here’s offered to pick up the tab.”

  It was Des’ turn to look embarrassed. “You don’t need to do that, Marc.”

  Liam nodded. “That’s what I said, and I bet his missus will say so too.”

  When Andy, who’d been listening to the discussion increasingly puzzled, opened his mouth to ask what on earth they were talking about, all three men said hastily, “Let’s move it along” and as a distraction Des pointed quickly to Stuart Kincaid’s bags, both empty now and with their contents arranged neatly alongside.

  “Andy said you were looking for something to indicate Kincaid was following leads on his niece’s disappearance, but the only items I found of possible relevance were these.”

  He lifted a small leather folder from amongst the possessions and opened it to display some papers, motioning Craig to take a look. As the detective unfolded the first piece of paper he gave a gasp; it was an almost identical list to the one Davy had shown them shortly before!

  He passed it to his deputy and unfolded a second page that held a list of car registration numbers. Andy, who’d been peering over his shoulder, pointed in astonishment to one halfway down.

  “That’s the car Pierre Galvet stole!”

  Liam peered at the number. “Bloody hell, boss, he’s right. And these are the names of Davy’s abducted kids. Kincaid was streets ahead of us!”

  Craig reached behind him for a stool and almost fell on to it. “He was really on to something, or someone. That’s why he was killed.”

  Des and Andy were looking confused, so Liam brought them up to speed on Davy’s theory of an abduction ring while Craig removed the two remaining items from the folder and set the first of them on the desk. It was a series of head and shoulder images of young children, each one set against a grid.

  Andy’s eyebrows shot up.

  “T
hat’s a facial recognition grid! Look, it says something at the top. ‘Les Gendarmes Nice, France.’ And there’s a date. December twenty-seventeen.”

  “What-” Craig stopped abruptly and thought for a few seconds before starting again. “OK. So… Stuart Kincaid got this from the gendarmes seventeen months after his niece’s abduction.”

  Liam looked perplexed. “But why? Her photo’s not there.”

  Andy had noticed something else. “Look, there. That bit translates as these are missing kids that the police found.”

  That was the advantage of studying languages.

  He frowned. “But why would the gendarmes have given Kincaid anything at all? He was a civvie.”

  Craig gave a small shrug. “He must have paid someone to access info the gendarmes gathered after the girl’s abduction.”

  Liam gave a whistle that said he was impressed. “A private eye. It must have cost him a bundle. And he must have paid them in cash because Davy didn’t find anything on his card.”

  When he saw that his other D.C.I. was still looking confused Craig turned to him inquisitively. If Andy didn’t support something immediately it was usually because there was another layer to be found.

  “OK, so I understand about the lists of missing kids and cars. Kincaid obviously believed that Bella had been kidnapped not killed. But what took him to Rownton? Bella had never lived there, and she went missing in France not Ireland.”

  Craig dropped his eyes to the floor in thought for a moment. When he looked up again there was a glint in them that everyone saw.

  “Stuart Kincaid was a very clever man. When no body was found he felt sure Bella wasn’t dead and followed the same thought processes as us. He thought of a stolen car being used in her abduction, hence the list of registrations, and through researching, maybe paying a private detective, he discovered that there were far more missing children in Europe than just his niece. Agreed?”