The Depths

by Catriona King

  Craig conceded the point, more from expediency than any sense of guilt. The last thing he needed was an overnighter with Liam in a state of wounded pride. It would be like spending twenty-four hours with a grizzly that hadn’t been fed.

  A summary of all things crypto-icon, arrest, Venezuelan and airport followed and it earned him a grudging nod of approval and an astute comment.

  “You realise that if we solve this one, it’ll all be down to the geeks. You should buy them a robot or something each to say thanks.”

  It wasn’t a bad idea, but it wasn’t one they would discuss further just then because a man with a large head and an equally large grin was approaching them, and his loud northern, “’Bout ye, big man” said that he couldn’t have been anybody but Liam’s old friend.

  “’Bout ye, yerself, Pat! Ye big Newry hallion. I see you finally swapped the green for the blue.”

  It was one of the island’s many anomalies that the Republic of Ireland’s police wore a blue uniform, whereas Northern Ireland’s, in the UK, wore the traditionally Irish green.

  “I have indeed. This must be your new boss, then. D.C.S. Craig, isn’t it?”

  He extended a hand for Craig to shake.

  “Good to meet you, and thanks for doing this for us, Superintendent Goodall. We’d better bring you up to date with what else we’re planning on doing on your turf.”

  Just then Davy called again; the airport situation was developing fast.

  “W…We’re heading into your office to view the crypto stuff now, but I thought I’d let you know that I decided to widen the airport w…watch. We’re looking at all departures today to any non-extradition country just in case they decide to get slippery, and I’ve put all the airports on general alert.”

  “Connecting airports in Europe and the US too, Davy?”

  “Yep, and I’ll update you soon as.”

  “Good. And can you update Ryan on your theory about the abduction ring before he sees Pierre Galvet, please.”

  “Email already sent.”

  Craig ended the call thanking heavens for his excellent team and turned back to the Garda. “You got all that?”

  Pat Goodall whistled. “And all from one word that lassie Casey said. I hope my boy wasn’t hearing things.”

  “Don’t worry, there’s more than that behind it.”

  As they brought him up to date on why they wanted to speak to Róisín Casey, Goodall puffed out his cheeks and shook his head.

  “Well now, I’d reckoned on the killing part, what with you being Murder Squad and all, but the kids’ stuff is worse.”

  Craig nodded solemnly. “What are your limits on what we can ask her, given that you only brought her in on speeding offences?”

  The burly Garda folded his arms, displaying muscled forearms that said he worked out and reminding Craig how long it had been since he’d done the same.

  “As far as I’m concerned just go for it, although she’s called a lawyer so how far you’ll get is anyone’s guess…”

  “Understood. Was there a message for me from your commissioner by any chance?”

  One of his many calls on their journey down had been to the Chief Con, and when he’d explained why they were heading south and requested his assistance, Flanagan had promised to call the new Garda commissioner, who just happened to be a woman that they all knew well from TV: Ruth ‘Rusty’ Bradley, so called because of her flaming red hair. There was constant speculation whether Bradley chose to front press conferences so often because she saw her hair’s fieriness as emblematic of the fight against crime, or she just liked looking at herself.

  Goodall’s eyes widened in alarm, “I completely forgot about that!” He rummaged in his shirt pocket for a moment then withdrew a note and passed it across.

  Craig read it and passed it to his deputy with a smile.

  “Rusty says we can ask her anything we want, so if Casey’s got herself a good lawyer we could be here all night.”

  ****

  Manchester. England.

  It was handy that Burnage Prison wasn’t far from the city’s airport, and even handier that Pierre Galvet had agreed to talk to them as soon as he’d been asked, and the only possible reason Ryan could think of for that was because the Frenchman was bored. It was one of the biggest problems with any incarceration, but an even bigger one probably when you’re stuck on a protective custody wing because out amongst the general population your sex offences would earn you a severe kicking for being a nonce. Whatever the reason it was their gain.

  The next plus was that the entrance to the wing wasn’t through the main prison but via a side door that opened conveniently close to the interview room. Even though the D.S. had asked his constable to dress circumspectly, a request that for once Mary hadn’t argued with, she couldn’t conceal her face, and the reception given to any woman in a male prison wasn’t a pretty sight never mind one as young as her.

  Predictably Galvet leered as soon as he saw her, and when Ryan reported it afterwards Craig would kick himself for sending a woman to interview the sex offender at all. Yes, Mary was a police officer so perhaps such regret was just patriarchal anti-feminist self-indulgence on his part, or something ‘woke’ and complicated like that, and if so he was sure that someone, most probably the constable herself, would point it out to him, but he was still uncomfortable exposing women to certain situations and with the best will in the world he knew it would take him years more to get past his upbringing on that. And another decade for his mother to forgive him for doing so.

  Perhaps it was a touch of that same conditioning that made Ryan surprised to see that Galvet had a young female solicitor beside him, or perhaps it was just that he’d expected everyone to share his repugnance at the paedophile’s crimes. Nevertheless, the sergeant pushed his feelings to one side, checked that there were no language barriers and ran through the formalities quickly, hopeful that either Galvet would answer all their questions immediately or refuse to answer them at all, so that they could get away from the creep quickly and catch the late flight home.

  The desire made the sergeant cut straight to the heart of the matter.

  “Mister Galvet. Did you work at Le Petit Raisin Fruit Farm in Colomars in the summer of two-thousand-and-fifteen?”

  The skinny Frenchman wheezed quietly and picked idly at the raw end of a cigarette that he was obviously dying to smoke. Society’s laws made him control that habit indoors, but obviously not his untidy one of flaking tobacco all over the place.

  His wheeze intensified as he answered,“Oui.”

  “In English please, for the tape.”

  “Yes. I work there for many summers.”

  His lawyer leaned forward, interceding. “What was the relevance of that question?”

  Both detectives were surprised when her client raised a bony hand and waved her back.

  “Let them ask what they want, ma chère. I need entertainment today.”

  They would play any role they had to if the Frenchman told them what they wanted to know.

  “And which months were you employed there that year?”

  As Galvet closed his eyes trying to recall, Mary noticed curiously that the white lumps of fat she’d noticed below his eyes were repeated on their lids. She was still staring when the Frenchman’s faded brown eyes reopened and he gave a sly smile at catching her gaze.

  She didn’t look away, staring the paedophile down so hard that Ryan thought ‘Good on you’ and Galvet eventually transferred his gaze to the solicitor by his side.

  “I think August until October that year, but I cannot be sure.”

  It confirmed what they already knew.

  Ryan asked his next question without much hope of a truthful answer. Bored Galvet might be, and so willing to confirm neutral details to prolong the meeting, but he doubted that the man fancied incriminating himself.

  “Do you recall leaving the farm one day in August that year and going into La Gaude?”

  The village the
Renault had been stolen from.

  The lawyer moved forward ready to object again, but her charge merely smiled, revealing yellowing teeth and badly receded gums.

  “Oui, I went to La Gaude that summer, but I do not recall the date.”

  “Did you go there often?”

  It earned the detective a shrug.

  “When we were free perhaps. They worked us hard on that farm.”

  Ryan decided to come at it another different way.

  “On the day in question you stole a silver Renault car. Do you remember that?”

  This time the lawyer didn’t wait for permission. “Don’t answer that!”

  The detectives watched as the sex offender turned towards her almost teasingly. “But why not? What can they do to me that God has not already done?”

  Quite a lot if they were proved right, but Ryan decided not to point that out just then.

  “Yes, I took the car. I left it many miles away that night.”

  The D.S. could hardly believe his ears, but he maintained his cool façade and leant forward at the table, keeping his hands firmly beneath it in case he was tempted to grab the sex offender by the throat.

  “That wasn’t all you took that day, was it, Mister Galvet?”

  The leering smile returned, making Mary want to slap him.

  “La jeune fille…ah, oui, elle était très jolie.”

  Ryan thought he understood the words but he needed them in English for the tape.

  “In English, please.”

  Galvet’s constant background wheeze grew louder.

  “I say… the young girl. Yes, she was very pretty.”

  The sergeant’s jaw clenched so hard he couldn’t speak for a moment so his constable did instead.

  “Can you describe the girl?”

  When Galvet’s eyes closed this time she hoped they would never reopen, but they did, with a smile, and the words that they’d travelled there to hear yet had half-hoped they wouldn’t emerged.

  “She was three years or so. Very blonde, almost white, very blue eyes. Light. She wore blue dungarees, a yellow cardigan and white shoes. They had little rabbits on the toes.”

  It was the exact outfit that Bella Westbury had been wearing when she’d disappeared and the pleasure the man took in its description made Mary feel sick. But Galvet’s follow-up sickened her even more.

  “Her name was Bella Westbury. Belle. Oui, elle était belle.”

  Ryan didn’t want to know what that meant in English, even the sound of the man saying it made his skin crawl, but he did want to know how the scumbag knew the girl’s name. Had Bella told him herself? It seemed unlikely when she’d been so young.

  “How do you know her name?”

  Galvet was twisting his lips in pleasure now, playing with the sound. “Bella, Bella…”

  Ryan’s hands appeared suddenly and slammed down on the table. “How do you know her name?”

  It made the sex offender cough at length and when his choking ended he gave a rueful smile. “I did not touch her you know. Not in that way.”

  “HOW. DO. YOU. KNOW. HER. NAME?”

  It prompted a sigh. “Again with the same question. Ah, well, I will answer so that we can move on. I knew her name because I was given when I told to take her. Not for me myself. No, I did not touch her in that way, she was too young.” He shook his head. “Not for anyone that way. She was too valuable. Taken only for money. You will have heard of such things, no?”

  Not this side of hell they hadn’t. Ryan noticed there was no defensive bluster from the solicitor now; instead she was arching away from her client, a look of disgust on her face.

  Galvet’s answers confirmed everything in Davy’s email, but Ryan couldn’t understand why the paedophile was offering everything so freely when he must have known that it would keep him in prison for life.

  He knew it was tempting fate, but he had to ask the reason. The question was greeted by a shrug.

  “Because why not? You think I care about more years in here? No. It is boring yes, but not so bad. Besides, I will die before long time.”

  He smirked at Mary and then pointed to the lumps beneath his eyes. “Fat. You noticed. Too much cheese perhaps. And they say that inside I am full of it, even though I am skinny. I have already two heart attacks so I know I will soon have more.”

  He waved a hand around the small interview room. “I am not strong enough to work now and if I cannot work I will starve, so better to die here with food and in the warm.”

  He picked at his cigarette again for a moment in silence, this time deliberately brushing the flakes off the table onto the floor, and then he stared directly at Ryan.

  “So… perhaps I will give you what you want and you will give me something?”

  “Like what?”

  The dead man walking held up his now half-cigarette. “Many of these. I love these, they make me happy. Also perhaps they make me die quicker. Yes?”

  Everyone goes to hell their own way.

  The sergeant’s reply was ambivalent, loath to confirm that they would give such a pervert anything.

  “We’ll see what we can do. Now, back to the girl. You said money was involved. Were you paid to take her?”

  The Frenchman gave a rude snort. “A pittance! Merde. I take all the risk and get three hundred Euros. Pigs.”

  Ryan’s voice became eager. “Who? Do you have the pigs’ names?”

  “I have the names they gave to me, but I know that they were fake. Brad and Taylor, like the pop girl. Who ever heard of Irish called Brad and Taylor?”

  The detectives’ eyes grew round.

  “They were Irish? How can you be sure?”

  “I watch movies. I hear the voices. Different voices but both Ireland.”

  “Would you recognise them if you saw them again?”

  “The man, yes. I gave him the Bella girl. The woman,” he shrugged, “it was only her voice I heard, when she called me to arrange the first time. After that I spoke only to the man. The same man on the phone and took Bella.”

  He shook his head wistfully. “I wonder where she is sometimes. I wonder where they all are.”

  Mary jumped in.

  “All? All children?”

  “Ah, oui. All very young. The oldest I took was still only four years. Boys and girls, all very pretty.”

  “All in France?”

  “But no. From many places in Europe. Me and others.”

  “Can you remember exactly where and when?”

  The Frenchman smirked. “Yes, but that will cost you very many cigarettes.”

  Ryan nodded; as far as he was concerned Galvet could smoke out of every orifice at once as long he gave them what they needed.

  He took back the questioning.

  “First, Bella. Give us everything about her to show you’re telling the truth. Would you recognise this Brad again?”

  Galvet gave a sceptical snort. “But of course. It is my heart not my brain that is failing.”

  “Describe to us exactly how you took her.”

  The Frenchman shrugged again.

  “It was simple. This Brad watched her from far and when he was ready he called me to wait nearby. I waited, I see a chance so I lift the girl over the wall, drug her with a pad Brad had sent me and drive her to meet him in the woods. He paid me; I left the car there and return to the farm another way.”

  He made it sound as mundane and unemotional as doing his weekly shop.

  “What if the opportunity hadn’t arisen that day?”

  “We would try again. I had stolen many cars and waited many times for this Bella before.”

  Shit! It looked as if once this Brad had a child in his sights he didn’t give up.

  Mary wasn’t so sure, so she sat forward signalling to ask something.

  “Did you wait so many times for every child?”

  It prompted a laugh.

  “No, never. Usually I just see in the street, I snatch, I hand over, but with this Bella Brad was
obsessed. Just with Bella.”

  It was something to report to Craig. When she sat back Ryan nodded a ‘well done’ and continued.

  “What happened to the children after they were taken?”

  It prompted another shrug that this time said ‘don’t know, don’t care’.

  “I know they were valuable, but how I do not know.”

  Ryan decided it was time for a break and he nodded the others to join him outside.

  He turned to the solicitor.

  “We need to get an ID on this Brad. Are you OK with your client doing a photo array?”

  The solicitor nodded, far more subdued than when they’d started. “Please believe me; I had no idea about any of this. I was only appointed to represent him today when you called to say you were coming.”

  Ryan gave a weak smile.

  “We all have our jobs and not every part of them is pleasant. OK, Detective Li here will contact Manchester Police Headquarters to arrange an array here with our suspect’s photo amongst them, and meanwhile you and I will get some more details. We’re heading outside for five minutes to make some calls and then we’ll restart.”

  With Mary in tow he called Craig, and caught him and Liam in an interview room awaiting Róisín Casey.

  “Yes, Ryan. How’re things going?”

  “You won’t believe it, chief. Galvet’s coughing to everything!”

  Craig set his mobile on speaker. “Be exact.”

  “He’s admitted stealing the Renault and taking Bella for money, three hundred Euros.”

  “My God!”

  Craig could hardly believe his ears.

  “But he says he didn’t assault her, just drugged her and drove her to be handed over to a man who called himself Brad. Galvet spoke to both him and a woman called Taylor to arrange things, but he says they were obviously false names because both of them were Irish. He never saw the woman but he did see the man when he passed on the Westbury girl, so we’re going to set up an array with Blaine Westbury’s photo included. Is that OK?”

  Liam’s mouth was hanging open in disbelief at the break they’d just been handed, but Craig managed a weak, “Yes.”