“I know,” Laura replied, her face softening, “but she really is in trouble.”
“What have the Old Bill got?”
“They think she helped Philip with the abuse.”
“Not a chance. Absolutely no fucking way.”
“They’ve got evidence, Gareth.”
“What sort of evidence?”
“There’s a video showing Philip, er, well. Showing him with a child. Annette’s in it, holding her down while Philip… er…”
Gareth suddenly felt sick to the stomach. His little sister?
“Are you serious? Have you seen it?”
“I’ve not seen the video, no, but I’ve seen stills from it. It’s definitely her.”
“Fuck,” Gareth whispered. His entire world had just shifted on its axis. This couldn’t be happening. “Are they going to charge her?”
“Almost certainly, yes.” Kate took another sip from her drink. “That video’s going to be a tough nut to crack in court.”
“I don’t believe it,” Gareth said. He still felt sick.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“No, I mean I don’t believe it. There is no way that my sister is a paedophile.” Gareth’s shock was turning to anger. “No way in hell is that true.”
He sat back in his chair, trying to process what Laura had just said. Maybe Annette had been forced into what she had done? Coerced somehow? He just couldn’t see her getting involved in that type of activity.
“Gareth, listen,” Laura said as she pulled some paperwork from her briefcase. “We’ve got some work to do.”
He listened as she explained what her plans were. There weren’t many options available. The best defence available, Laura explained, was that Annette was as much a victim. If Laura could prove that Annette was an unwilling participant, then it would reduce the severity of the charges. Not make them disappear, but it would mean that she wouldn’t spend as much time in prison.
Gareth recoiled at the thought of Annette in prison. Paedophiles—rightly so in his opinion, or at least until a few minutes ago—were right at the bottom of the food chain behind bars. He didn’t know for certain, but he imagined it was the same in female prisons as it was in male ones. Even the prison nickname for paedophiles gave an indication as to their vulnerability. Nonce. Not on normal courtyard exercise.
“I need to hire your firm as a technical consultant,” Laura said, shaking Gareth from his thoughts. “Get Dave in on this. Once the CPS have agreed to release the video, we’ll need to have a proper look at it. Would you be happy to give evidence that Annette was being regularly beaten by Philip?”
“Laura, I would testify that the Queen mugged me in Castle Meadow before riding off on a large unicorn if it would help Annette.”
“Not the time for quips, Gareth. She’s looking at up to fourteen years in nick for this.”
“But I don’t believe it, Laura,” Gareth replied. He knew he was sounding like a spoilt child, but this was his sister. Laura’s face softened for a second or two, but she was straight back to business.
“Option one, Annette was completely under the control of Philip. He dominated her, emotionally, physically, and sexually.” Laura’s face was hard, unyielding. “She had no choice but to acquiesce, even though she knew how wrong it was. Essentially, she feared for her own life if she didn’t.”
“Okay, what’s option two?”
Laura paused for a moment. Gareth watched her, frowning as she thought before picking up her drink and taking a sip. Playing for time.
“Gareth,” she replied, “there is no option two. Not yet.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Gareth said, sitting back in his chair. “This is bollocks.”
“At present, our best option is damage limitation.” Laura ignored Gareth’s last statement. “There’s no getting away from the video. Philip being dead, perversely, actually helps us. We can paint him however we want and there’s no way it can be rebutted.” Laura sighed. “My only concern is how Annette would stand up to that sort of forensic examination of her life.” She placed some paperwork on the table, careful to avoid a puddle of spilt drink. “Sign here.”
“What’s this?” Gareth asked, peering at the paper.
“It’s a retainer,” Laura said. “Dewar Solicitors is hiring your firm as a technical consultant in the case.” She placed a pen on top of the paper. Gareth picked it up and signed it without even reading it.
“What are you consulting us about?”
“I want Dave to look at that video,” Laura replied. “The police techs have been all over it and they say it’s genuine, so I doubt that he’ll be able to find anything, but we have to at least go through the motions.”
“Has it hit the press?”
“Not yet, but it will.”
“So what happens next?” Gareth asked Laura. She sighed before replying.
“They’ve got twenty-four hours to hold her. They’ll probably extend that though. Could be up to four days.”
“Then they’ll charge her?” Gareth looked at Laura. She suddenly looked exhausted.
“Almost certainly, yes.”
65
Ronnie jumped as one of the burner phones buzzed on the table. Hesitating, he looked at the screen before answering it. The number displayed was a local number, and he’d only given this burner’s number to one person.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, Mr Phelps.” It was Sukarba.
“Officer Sukarba, good afternoon.” Ronnie sat on the edge of the bed with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had a horrible feeling he knew exactly which way this phone call was going to go.
“How are you today?” the policeman asked. Ronnie could hear from the tone of his voice that he was smiling.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Good, good.” There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Now, I’m sorry to disturb you, but it appears there has been a small, how do you say, mix-up?”
“What sort of a mix-up?”
“The swabs and fingerprints I gave you the other day? Well, it turns out that they aren’t actually yours.”
Ronnie swore under his breath. He’d checked the paperwork in the Ziplock bags before tearing them up and throwing them into a series of dumpsters, making sure that the paperwork, the DNA sample, and fingerprint card all went into separate ones.
“They had my name on them.”
“As I said, a mix-up. An unfortunate administrative error.”
“How much do you want?”
“Excuse me?” Sukarba asked, managing to sound genuinely surprised.
“I imagine that you’re calling to tell me there’ll be an additional fee to get them back?” The policeman paused before replying.
“There will be a minor administration charge, yes.”
“How much?”
“Seventy-five million rupiah.”
Ronnie did the maths in his head. That was just over four thousand pounds. Four grand he didn’t have.
“I don’t have any more money. My last donation to your retirement fund cleaned me out.”
“Oh, that is unfortunate. I guess I’ll have to process these samples then. Get them on the database.”
“How long do I have?” Ronnie said with a resigned sigh. He, of all people, should know how this game was played.
“I can give you a week?”
An hour later, Ronnie was sitting in an Internet cafe in Denpasar looking at the website for the Eastern Daily News. He scrolled through the various articles. A robbery at knifepoint near Norwich Castle. A homeless man beaten to death in an underpass by St Stephen’s street. A cannabis farm in Great Yarmouth. But there was nothing about the arrest of Annette McGuire, or anything similar.
He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. Perhaps the journalist he’d sent the video of Annette and Philip to hadn’t watched it? Maybe the e-mail didn’t even reach him, but was sitting in his spam folder, unread and waiting to be automaticall
y deleted. Ronnie had been quite clear about who was in the video, and the newspaper had reported on Philip McGuire’s death in lurid terms. It would be quite a break for a regional newspaper.
Ronnie navigated to his Protonmail account and checked to see if his latest mark in Chester had responded. There was nothing. Even if there had been, the chances of getting money from the man within a week were remote. In his experience, people normally needed a little bit of extra persuasion to cough up. Like Annette McGuire had.
There was only one thing he could do, which was to tap her up for some more money. He would have to take his chances on the journalist. Ronnie’s original plan had been to expose Annette as Philip’s accomplice. To destroy her completely. The minute the video became public, and he was sure it would sooner or later, her life would be ruined.
Ronnie opened up a new e-mail and started tapping away at the keyboard.
Annette,
I’m afraid that I need some more money to get the hard drive to you. £10k will cover it, and then you’ll never hear from me again.
R.
He stared at the e-mail for a few seconds before sending it. It was a risk, but he didn’t have any other option. For his plan to work, he needed two things to happen. The first was for the policeman to accept the second payment and move onto someone else. There was no guarantee that this would happen, but Ronnie thought it was likely. Ten grand would pay Sukarba off and leave Ronnie with enough money to leave Bali for good. The second thing was for Annette McGuire to pay up. Ronnie didn’t know how long life insurance took to pay out, but surely she would have a decent amount of money coming her way at some point. Maybe he should have asked her for some more cash?
He closed down his Protonmail account and opened TOR. A few moments later, he was on the message board, reading a post from another user about a man in Utah who he’d managed to take for over a hundred thousand dollars. Ronnie whistled through his teeth as he read about the mark—apparently a well-known pastor with deep pockets—wishing that he could have landed that one.
Ronnie opened up a new thread to let them all know about Annette. There wouldn’t be any identifying details in it, of course, or any mention of Sukarba, but this was one part of the job that he enjoyed the most.
66
“Annette, why didn’t you tell us you were being blackmailed?”
Annette glanced at Laura before leaning back in her chair to consider the question the Detective Superintendent had just asked her. Next to him was the bitch-faced female copper who was just glaring at her. They had obviously decided to go down the ‘good cop, bad cop’ route.
“Because I didn’t want the truth to get out about Philip,” Annette replied. She and Laura had spent a couple of hours earlier that morning going over and over things. Laura’s mantra was simple—just be honest.
“If you’ve done nothing wrong,” she had said, “then you need to let them do their job.” That tactic wasn’t going to help with the video, though.
“Why not? He’s dead, so why would it matter? I just want to understand your side of this whole thing, Annette.” She looked at the policeman, wanting to trust him but not quite able to.
“Because I would become a pariah,” Annette said. “It wouldn’t matter that he’s dead. I would forever be the wife of a paedophile.”
“How’s this version?” It was Kate. “You didn’t tell us because you didn’t want us finding out you were a willing partner in his paedophilia?”
“No,” Annette replied before Laura placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “That’s not true.”
“Annette, back to the blackmail,” Malcolm said, not even looking at his colleague. “When we searched your house, we found the phone you used to communicate with this person. Can I ask, why did you use an old phone with a new SIM?”
“Because I didn’t want him to have my phone number,” Annette replied. She and Laura had discussed this at length.
“Right, that’s understandable,” Malcolm said. Beside him, Kate cleared her throat, staring at Annette as she did so. “So the first you knew about the blackmail was when you were sent the photographs through the post?”
“That was the first I knew about Philip being a paedophile. When those photographs turned up.”
“The ones which you burnt in your garden?” Malcolm asked.
“That’s correct.”
“And then you received an e-mail from the blackmailer?”
“Yes. He threatened to send the photographs to the press.”
“You replied to him, is that correct?”
“Yes. I asked him who he was and what he wanted.” Annette paused. Her mouth was dry, but she didn’t want to ask for a glass of water. It would be Kate who would be sent to get it, and she didn’t trust the woman not to spit in it. “He replied and said that Philip had been giving him money. He wanted a single payment from me and said that I’d never hear from him again.”
“Were there any other e-mails from him?”
“Yes. He sent a video a few days later. It showed Philip with a young girl.”
“Were you in it?” Kate asked, smirking at Annette.
“Ignore that,” Laura said, shooting a cynical look at the policewoman.
“Okay,” Malcolm said. “Then you exchanged text messages to set up the payment which you made from Barclay’s Bank in Wroxham?”
“Yes,” Annette replied, trying to put a note of finality into her voice. There was much that she had left out of the conversation, such as it was, but she hadn’t lied.
Malcolm sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. As he did so, Kate leaned forward. The good cop was done, and it was obviously time for the bad cop.
“Mrs McGuire,” Kate said. “You’ve already told us that you disposed of the photographs by burning them in the garden incinerator.”
“That’s correct.”
“Why did you do that?”
“They were disgusting.”
“If they actually existed at all.”
“They did,” Annette replied. “You can check the courier who delivered them.”
“We already have,” Kate said. “They’ve confirmed a package was delivered to you that originated in Bali, but not what was in it.”
“They did exist, I’m telling you.”
“So, these e-mails he sent you and this video?”
“Yes?”
“Where are they? Only our technical team can’t seem to find them on your computer.”
“I deleted them.”
“There should still be traces.”
“I went onto Google to find out how to completely delete stuff like that. I didn’t want it on my computer. You’ve got the text messages on the phone, though.”
“Yes, we have,” Kate said. She looked at Annette, a slow smile spreading across her face. “They only started after we came to speak to you about your husband potentially being blackmailed.”
“So?” As Annette said this, Laura placed her hand on her forearm again.
“Annette,” Laura said quietly. “Just let DC Hunter ask her questions.”
“Very kind of you, Miss Flynn,” Kate replied with a sneer. “Thank you. Mrs McGuire, who is he?”
“Who is who?”
“Your contact in Bali? The one you and Philip have been sending money to? Does he get the children for you?”
“No.”
“Is that what the money is for? Procuring children for sex?”
“No!”
“When you found out we thought Philip was being blackmailed, you set up a little text exchange with your contact to reinforce that idea, didn’t you?”
“No, I did not.”
“Did you know you were being videoed when you held that child down?”
“No!” Annette shouted. Her voice was starting to wobble, and the word came out as more of a sob than anything else.
“So you didn’t know you were being videoed?”
“That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t there. That’s not me.”
“It certainly looks like you, Mrs McGuire,” Kate replied, glancing down at the Celtic cross on Annette’s wrist. “Right down to that tattoo. If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, what do you think it is?”
“Superintendent Griffiths?” Laura said sharply. “Is this really necessary?”
Annette could feel the tears streaming down her face. This was all so wrong. She just wanted to go home, drink as much wine as she could, and curl up in the corner of her lounge until everything went away.
“You’re lying, Mrs McGuire,” Kate said, her voice like steel. “You’re lying about the photographs and the e-mails. There is no blackmailer, is there? Someone’s over there in Bali, one of your child molesting friends, and he’s laughing at you now.”
“No, no, none of that is true,” Annette said, now crying in earnest. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand but they kept coming. Through the tears, she saw Malcolm glancing at his watch before leaning forward to press a button on the dictaphone on the table.
“Interview terminated at thirteen ten.”
67
“Thoughts, Kate?” Malcolm said when they sat down in his office. The custody sergeant had taken Annette back to the holding cells in floods of tears. The last Malcolm had seen of her, Laura was leading her into her cell.
“I think she’s lying through her teeth,” Kate replied, placing a cup of coffee from the police canteen in front of him. He peered into it suspiciously.
“Is that tea or coffee?” he asked her.
“Well, I asked for coffee but I’m not sure to be honest. Could be either.”
“Why do you think she’s lying?”
“The video, for one thing. Plus the fact that everything she said in there is either deleted, or missing.” As Kate said the word ‘deleted’, she made air quotes with her fingers. “Very convenient. The text messages only appeared after we went to see her.”
“You’re right about that,” Malcolm replied. “She certainly would have had ample opportunity to set that up after the fact to make us see what we want to see. Okay, let’s just think for a moment. Where would we be if we didn’t have the video?”
Single Handed (Gareth Dawson Series Book 3) Page 24
