White is the coldest colour: A dark psychological suspense thriller

by John Nicholl

  ‘Like a boss?’

  ‘Yes, like a boss.’

  ‘Was he one of the men who assaulted you, Donna?’

  She opened her eyes and shook her head vigourously. ‘No, he only ever hurt the boys.’

  It had to be worth a try. ‘Do you know the doctor’s first name, Donna?’

  Silence.

  ‘You never heard anyone call him by his first name?’

  ‘No, everyone called him, Doctor.’

  ‘Could you tell me what he looked like?’

  She grimaced. ‘Yes, I t-think so.’

  Time to move on. She was in danger of blowing it. ‘That’s good, Donna, we’ll come back to that later.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Who else was at the farm?’

  ‘Lots of grownups and other children.’

  ‘Were there men and women, or just men?’

  ‘Mostly men.’

  ‘Could you tell us who the adults were? Do you know their names?’

  ‘I know some of their names.’

  ‘That’s good, Donna, I’ll ask you about each of them in turn in a short while. But I want to ask you some other questions first. Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Do you know any of the other children, Donna?’

  ‘My brother and sister were always there.’

  ‘Did bad things happen to them as well?’

  A tear ran down the young girl’s cheek as she replied in the affirmative.

  Alan Garret moved nearer to the edge of the settee. ‘Do you need to take a break, Donna?’

  ‘No, I want to finish.’

  Pam Forsyth nodded. ‘All right, Donna. We’ll carry on for a while, and then stop for drink and a biscuit when you're ready. Is that all right with you?’

  ‘Will you talk to my brother and sister like this?’

  ‘We’ll need to talk to my sergeant and Alan’s team manager first. But I’m sure we will interview them either tomorrow or on Sunday.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You said other children were at the farm?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could you tell us any of their names?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘That’s really helpful, Donna; I’ll ask you more about that in a little while and we’ll make a list.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Do you know where the farm is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How did you get there?’

  ‘We were all taken in the back of a van or a big lorry. ’

  ‘Do you know what kind of van it was?’

  ‘It was white.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about the lorry?’

  ‘I only saw the inside of the lorry, and it was always dark when they shut the door.’

  ‘Where did you start the journey?’

  ‘Dad used to put tape over our eyes before taking us somewhere in his car to meet the others.’

  ‘And you don’t know where that was?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, your father used to take you somewhere, and then you went in the van or lorry with the other children?’

  ‘Yes, we were all crammed in. It was horrible.’

  ‘Did you ever take the tape off your eyes when you were on the journey?’

  ‘Yes, once.’

  ‘Did you see where you were going?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘The windows were all covered up at the back of the van, and there weren't any in the lorry.’

  ‘Ah, I understand. How long did it take to get to the farm?’

  ‘I’m not really sure. But it was quite a long way.’

  ‘About how long do you think?’

  ‘I suppose about half-an-hour.’

  ‘What happened when you arrived at the farm?’

  ‘One of the men opened the doors and told us to get out.’

  ‘They told you and the other children to get out of the van or lorry?’

  ‘Yes, and they hit us and shouted at us if we didn't move quickly enough.’

  ‘You're doing very well, Donna. Tell us what happened next?’

  ‘We all went into a big building.’

  ‘What sort of building was it?’

  ‘We called it the barn.’

  ‘That’s very helpful, Donna; would you recognise the barn if you ever saw it again.’

  ‘Yes, but why are you asking that?’

  WPC Forsyth winced… The question was insensitive. She had to choose her words more carefully. ‘You won’t ever be taken there again, Donna. I just need to know if you’d recognise the place in photographs for evidential purposes after we find it.’

  Donna wiped a tear from her cheek. ’Yes, I think I would.’

  WPC Forsyth silently admonished herself for the ill-advised use of investigative jargon. ‘Do you remember what I said when I explained what evidence is the last time you were interviewed, Donna?’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘That’s good, Donna, I just want to ask you one last question before we take a break.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘This may seem like an odd question. But were you ever taken to a white room?’

  The young girl looked at her quizzically and said, ‘No.’

  ‘What, never?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Thank you, Donna. Let’s take a break now and go downstairs for drink.’

  Chapter 13

  Helen Frost, Mel Nicholson's bright and efficient admin officer, immediately recognised the caller’s high pitched voice with its musical West Country tones. ‘Hi, Karen, it’s Helen. Hold on. He's here somewhere.’

  ‘Thanks, Helen.’

  She peered out through the office door and shouted loudly down the corridor. ‘Mel, Karen's on the phone!’

  Nicholson, who was in the kitchen making coffee, called back, ‘Tell her to hang on. I'll be there in two-minutes.’

  Helen sighed. ‘He won't be long, Karen.’

  Karen Smith, a social services department child care team manager, sounded unusually irate. ‘I heard him, Helen. Tell him to get a move on. It's urgent!’

  Helen passed on the message and her boss trotted down the corridor. He knew Karen well and had learnt to respect her judgment… If she said it was urgent, it was urgent. ‘Karen, it's Mel. What's up?’

  There was a brief silence before Karen spoke. ‘You're not going to believe this, Mel. I think we've got a paedophile ring operating in the area.’

  Nicholson swallowed hard. ‘You think we’ve got a paedophile ring operating in our area?’

  ‘Okay. If you want to be pedantic about it. We’ve got a paedophile ring operating in our area. Is that clear enough for you?’

  ‘Hold on, Karen.’ He turned to his assistant who was organising some files in a grey steel cabinet next to his desk. ‘Helen, I need some privacy. Close the door on your way out please.’

  She sensed that something serious had happened and left without complaint or comment.

  ‘Karen, it’s Mel. Are you alone?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What exactly have you got for me?’

  ‘Are you sitting comfortably?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You're weren't a Jackanory fan then?’

  ‘Karen!’

  ‘Sorry, Mel, just trying to stay sane in a mad world. We’ve been working with a family with three kids: two girls of eight and six, and a boy of four. We applied for place of safety orders after the alleged rape of the eight-year-old girl by the father. She said the mother was also involved. All three children are with foster-carers pending care proceedings.’

  ‘Where’s the father now?’

  ‘He’s remanded in Swansea prison pending trial.’

  Nicholson scratched his head. ‘When you say the mother was involved, what exactly are we talking about?’

  ‘It's not great to be honest, Mel. The eight-year-old said
her mother held her down to facilitate the assault. She even supplied the condoms he used.’

  ‘How’s the investigation progressing?’

  ‘We've already undertaken further joint interviews with each of three children. They've described being sexually assaulted by multiple adults: sometimes alone and sometimes along with other children.’

  ‘All three of them?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Not just by the father?’

  ‘By their parents, several members of the extended family, and others.’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘Family friends, acquaintances, strangers!’

  ‘Were they able to name any of the other children and abusers?’

  ‘They were, Mel. Quite a few as it happens. The investigation’s been on-going for several weeks already, but it's only now we’re realising the scope and organised nature of what's going on. It took some time for the kids to feel safe enough to start giving details. Not surprising really, when you think about it. It’s growing all the time. It’s big, Mel. I should probably have contacted you sooner?’

  Nicholson spoke in a barely audible whisper. ‘Don't say any more for now, Karen. I'll be with you in about twenty-minutes.’

  Nicholson drove the sixteen-miles to the team manager's office far faster than usual despite the increasingly inclement winter weather. Karen already had a cup of warming strong black coffee waiting for him when he opened her office door. ‘Have a seat, Mel, where do you want me to start?’

  ‘I’m not in any hurry, Karen. Take your time. Give me the entire picture.’

  ‘It’s horrendous, Mel. I’ve never heard anything like it. Once the three Bevan children started talking, they really started talking. Alan Garret, my senior practitioner, and Pam Forsyth from the police were focussing on the father initially, but then there was mention of an uncle. It all came to a head on Friday. The oldest girl started talking about other adults, and subsequently her younger siblings confirmed her disclosures over the weekend. If what they've said is accurate, and we've got absolutely no reason to think it isn't, a great many children and numerous offenders are involved. It’s not like anything I’ve dealt with before, Mel. We've already got the names of seventeen children. And they're only the ones the Bevan children know by name.’

  ‘And they've named some of the abusers?’

  ‘A few, and they've described others.’

  ‘Anyone we know?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve started going back over the files. Some of the families involved have got a long history with the department. A lot of thing’s make sense now. I don't know how we missed the links for so long, to be honest?’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Karen. Hindsight tends to make things seem a great deal clearer than they were at the time.’

  ‘Mel, there’s one more thing I need to discuss with you.’

  Nicholson laughed, but his expression portrayed his concern. ‘Just when I thought I’d heard it all.’

  ‘Do you know David Galbraith, the psychiatrist?’

  ‘Dr Galbraith, yes, of course I do. Do you want him to work with the Bevan kids? I can talk to him for you, if that helps?’

  ‘The two oldest children have named him, Mel.’

  ‘Named him?’

  ‘He’s a part of the ring, Mel.’

  ‘What? That sounds highly unlikely?’

  ‘He’s an abuser, Mel. The children have named him. They've given accurate descriptions. They've given details of offences against several young boys. He’s one sadistic bastard by the sound of things.’

  ‘Galbraith?’

  ‘Yes, Mel, Galbraith!’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, I’ve heard it all now. He’s the last person I’d have suspected.’

  Karen rose from her chair. ‘Time for another coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  Nicholson sat back in his seat desperately trying to compose himself… He’d thought he could no longer be shocked. He’d been wrong. But, like it or not, he was the operational head of the county’s child protection services. It was time to step up and assume the lead however uncertain he felt inside.

  Karen soon reappeared balancing two mugs of coffee and a plate of chocolate digestive biscuits on an old battered tin Guinness tray. Nicholson thanked her profusely, ate two digestives ravenously, and attempted to exude an air of confidence he didn't feel. ‘Right, Karen, this is what we need to do. Firstly, and this is important, we need to keep this on a need to know basis. Don't talk to anyone unless we agree to it in advance. I'll get the director up to speed straight away, and talk to Trevor Simpson later today. Do you know him?’

  Karen shook her head and took another biscuit from the plate.

  ‘He’s my opposite number in the police. He’s sound. Knows what he's talking about. We need him involved.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘We need to arrange an initial planning meeting as soon as practicable. Grab a pen, and I'll give you a list of who needs to be there.’

  Karen picked up a clear plastic Biro and glanced pensively at her boss.

  ‘It’s the usual suspect’s really: the police, education, health, legal, ourselves, any other key agencies directly involved. I don't want the foster-carers there. It wouldn't be appropriate in the circumstances.’

  ‘Makes sense, Mel.’

  He stood up and spoke as calmly as he could manage. ‘I'll leave it with you, Karen. We can use the children's resource centre. It's as good a venue as any. Let's get together this afternoon: after three if at all possible, or tomorrow morning at the very latest. Tell everyone it's urgent, and ring me if anyone has a problem attending. I’ll have a quiet word if necessary. Let me know as soon as you've got a time. I'll get off now and let you get on with things.’

  ‘Will do, Mel. Thanks.’

  ‘You're welcome. I’ll speak to you shortly.’

  Nicholson found an empty room and rang the director of social services before leaving the child care team office. His day was about to get a lot more interesting. The phone was answered by Sheila Hoyle, the director's officious, often overbearing secretary, who acted as a self-appointed gatekeeper between her boss and the rest of the world. It was a role in which she excelled, and it took Nicholson a full two-minutes to convince her that his call couldn't wait… How many times did you have to say something was urgent?

  The director was somewhat prickly when he first spoke, but he rapidly changed his attitude when Nicholson explained the reason for his unexpected call.

  Approximately twenty-five minutes later Nicholson was back at social service headquarters, and knocking reticently on the director's office door. Roy Evans was sitting expansively in a brown leather swivel chair behind a large Victorian walnut desk when Nicholson entered his excessively spacious office. He got straight to the point. ‘This sounds serious, Mel. Give me the entire picture.’

  As Nicholson outlined the relevant facts, the director became visibly less relaxed with each new revelation. ‘Right, Mel. You’ve got my attention, how do we take this thing forward?’

  ‘We’ll get a planning meeting together as soon as possible. Karen Smith is already making the necessary arrangements. It’s going to be a complex investigation, but the quicker we get on with it the better. There’s a great many children in need of protection.’

  Roy Evans cocked his head at a slight angle, and held his chin between the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand. ‘That sounds fine as far as it goes, Mel. But I want you to set up a dedicated team to deal with this investigation and nothing else. I want Phillip Beringer to manage it for us. He’s got the necessary experience and cool-headed temperament for the job. Have a word with him for me, and take him to the planning meeting. The two of you need to work out how many social workers you’ll need to proceed. We can transfer them from their current teams as needed. Give some thought to who the best people are and give me a provisional list for final approval. You can involve yourself as you see fit, but keep a watching brief
. I want daily updates at four each and every afternoon. I haven't got your child protection experience, Mel, but I’ve been in the job long enough to know that this case is likely to define our careers for good or bad. I don't want this to be another Cleveland. Make certain you keep me in the loop. I don’t want any surprises.’ He scratched his nose with a manicured fingernail. ‘Have you talked to the police yet?’

  Nicholson paused for a second to clear his head before replying. ‘Not as yet, but once we've finished here I'll head to my office and make some calls.’

  ‘Fair enough, Mel, that does it for now. Get it done.’

  Nicholson hurried to his office at the other side of the 1960s concrete building, and hurriedly peeled a yellow post it note from the wall above his desk. He screwed his eyes up, squinting hard, struggling to decipher Helen's terrible scribbled handwriting. He smiled… It was good news. Things were progressing quickly. The planning meeting was arranged for three-o-clock that afternoon, and everyone required would be attending.

  Come on, Trevor! Answer the frigging thing.

  ‘DI Simpson.’

  ‘Trevor, it’s Mel. I’ve got something for you.’

  ‘Hi Mel, good to hear from you. I was planning to give you a ring myself at some point today. Things seem to be heating up a bit.’

  Nicholson laughed. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

  ‘You kick off, Mel, and we’ll proceed from there.’

  The inspector listened patiently as Nicholson outlined the basic facts. When he eventually stopped speaking DI Simpson remained silent for a moment, lost in thought, before finally saying, ‘Yeah, I’ve been told much the same thing at this end, Mel. But David Galbraith? Pam seems pretty certain that the Bevan girl named him, but I’ve viewed the tape; I couldn't hear the name. He’s always seemed all right to me, to be honest. Do you really think there's anything in it?’

  ‘It seems so, Trevor. The two younger siblings corroborated Donna’s allegations on Sunday.’

  ‘They're very young, Mel; I wouldn't want to rely on their evidence.’

  ‘Let’s wait and see what people have to say this afternoon.’

  Nicholson had to make three calls before finally tracking down Philip Beringer at a child protection investigation training course at a local hotel, where he was presenting a lecture on the assessment of risk. Beringer listened intently as his old friend summarised the morning's events.