Kathy looked at her and shifted awkwardly in her chair as she moved towards the microphone. Her voice was trembling and quiet. She looked broken. ‘Rosie, we just want you back with us at home. You’re not in trouble. We just want to make sure you are OK. If you can, please give us a call or a text – just to let us know you are safe. We all love you and want you back home with us. If you are Rosie’s friend and you are sheltering her or you know anything, please get in touch.’
Kathy looked over at Ruth to signal that she had finished. Ruth glanced over at Jason Wright, who continued to stare grimly down at the floor as if he would rather be anywhere else but there.
CLIMBING THE STAIRS, Sian and Merringer had already conducted a thorough search of the ground floor of the Wrights’ home. So far, they had found nothing that helped them with the search for Rosie or Kathy Wright’s possible involvement in the smuggling of drugs and phones at Rhoswen.
While Merringer checked the bathroom, Sian wandered into the main bedroom. It was small, tidy and dominated by a double bed with a subtle, floral duvet. A wedding photograph sat on the windowsill. Beside that was Kathy’s dressing table with perfumes, jewellery and a hairbrush. On the wall above the bed was a small wooden cross. It seemed incongruous to Sian; neither Kathy nor Jason Wright seemed to be the religious type.
For a split second, Sian remembered what she found in the garage last night: Ruth’s little shrine to Sarah’s disappearance. It made Sian feel stupid and sick to her stomach. How were they meant to build any kind of life with that going on, for God’s sake? Maybe they wouldn’t be able to. Maybe it was time to move on. She had spent the morning swinging between anger and being hurt and upset.
Trying to focus on the job in hand, Sian opened the door to the large pine wardrobe and flicked through Kathy’s clothes. Shoes, boots and trainers were lined up neatly at the bottom.
Merringer entered, holding something in his hand.
‘Found something?’ she asked.
He held up a green packet of pills: Microgynon 30. ‘Isn’t this a contraceptive pill?’ Merringer asked.
Sian nodded. ‘Yeah?’
‘Prescribed for Rosie Wright?’ Merringer said with a frown.
Sian knew that Merringer was curious as Rosie was allegedly gay. ‘Some women use the pill to help with heavy or painful periods,’ she explained.
‘Oh, right ...’ Merringer said as his face blushed.
Merringer looked suitably awkward as he nodded and left. She smiled to herself. Even though he had two daughters, Merringer was a bit clueless when it came to anything like that.
A few seconds later, Merringer popped his head back round the door and looked past her as if he had seen something.
‘What’s up?’ she asked him.
‘You know that wardrobe’s not flush to the wall?’ he said gesturing to the wardrobe she had just looked in.
‘We’re not here to feng shui their furniture, Luke,’ Sian quipped.
‘Funny,’ Merringer said.
Sian took a step to one side and looked at the wardrobe closely. He was right. There was a six-inch gap between the back of the wardrobe and wall. It might be nothing, but ...
‘Let’s have a look,’ she said, peering into the darkness behind the piece of furniture. There wasn’t much light, so it was difficult to see anything, but it did look like there was something behind there.
Merringer clicked on his pocket torch and handed it to her. ‘Here you go.’
‘Ta,’ she said as she moved the torch’s beam and saw that a bag had been squashed between the wall and wardrobe. It might have fallen down there from on top of the wardrobe, or had something been deliberately hidden? ‘Yeah, there’s something there.’
‘Let’s move it out.’ Merringer grabbed the wardrobe with both hands and edged it out slowly about two feet.
Sian crouched down and grabbed what looked like a black and grey canvas gym bag. Pulling it out onto the floor, she straightened out the handle before reaching for the zip and opening it.
Inside were plastic bags of bound fifty-pound notes. Sian looked up at Merringer – bingo.
‘How much is there?’ Merringer asked.
Sian flicked through them. Each packet contained one thousand pounds’ worth of fifty-pound notes.
‘About twenty grand,’ Sian said.
‘Bloody hell,’ Merringer said as he crouched down to get a better look.
What the hell are the Wrights doing with twenty thousand pounds hidden behind a wardrobe? The intel about Kathy’s smuggling business at the prison looked like it could be spot on.
IT WAS BAKING HOT BY the time Nick had parked in the visitor car park at Llancastell Sixth Form College. It was the height of the exam season and the corridors were relatively quiet. As he climbed the stairs, Nick got a waft of food cooking somewhere. Either the cafeteria or food technology classes, he thought.
It had been nearly twenty years since Nick had been in this part of the college. Even though Nick had stayed on at Dinas Padog for his A-levels, he had started dating Laura Foley who was doing English Literature, English Language, and Art A-levels at the college. She was a year older than him, which was pretty cool when you were seventeen. They bonded over The Stereophonics and Manic Street Preachers’ albums that Nick claimed made him feel proudly Welsh. Both their childhoods had been dysfunctional, so maybe that’s what drew them together. Laura had gone off to Liverpool University and after a few months they had drifted apart. However, the thought of her twisted his stomach.
Laura had got hooked on drugs at university and quickly became a heroin user. On a beautiful August evening in 2003, Laura had overdosed and died in the house she shared in Toxteth with three other smack heads. Nick couldn’t bear to think of her like that.
Finding Rosie’s form room empty save for George Xavier, Rosie’s form tutor, Nick asked if he could have another word. Bringing over his laptop, Xavier sat down opposite Nick at the front of the classroom. For a moment, Nick still had the image of Laura in his head, but he had to focus. He tried to put her out of his mind.
Glancing up at one of the wall displays, Nick noticed one that had lettering spelling out, Wonderwall, with a photo of Liam and Noel Gallagher either side. The wall had students work all over it.
‘Wonderwall? Aren’t Oasis a bit before your time?’ Nick said.
‘A bit. Classic songs though. Not a fan?’ Xavier asked.
‘They weren’t even the best Beatles tribute act in Manchester,’ quipped Nick. He wasn’t sure he believed that, but it was a good joke.
‘Ouch. Bit harsh,’ Xavier said with a smile and then nodded as he found something on the laptop. He showed Nick the digital class register. ‘Okay, so Rosie was in for morning and lunchtime registration.’
Nick noticed Xavier had a Glastonbury Festival wristband in amongst his assorted leather and fabric bracelets. Who is he trying to impress? Nick thought.
‘Can you tell me what time she left college?’ Nick asked.
‘No. Lunchtime register is at one. Rosie had private study periods in the afternoon where she’s meant to go to the library to work. But some students go to the cafeteria and just chat. Others find empty classrooms or computer rooms to go and work in,’ Xavier explained.
‘Isn’t that a safeguarding issue?’ Nick asked.
Xavier shrugged. ‘Probably. I don’t run the college. But I did ask the IT people to send over some CCTV from the main gate and the road outside. You can see when students leave. I’ve done it before when I think someone’s been lying to me,’ Xavier explained.
Nick nodded but suspected Xavier was showing off, trying to play amateur detective. ‘Can we have a look?’
Xavier began to play the footage of the gate and road on fast-forward. The time-code ran at the bottom right of the screen. It was mainly quiet, with only a couple of students leaving during the hour before the end of the college day.
At 3.10 p.m., the figure of a girl, with a rucksack on her back, made her way out of t
he gates. She was on her phone.
Xavier immediately stopped the CCTV on his laptop and pointed. ‘I think that’s her.’
As the footage played now in real time, the girl turned her head a little and Nick could see that it was definitely Rosie Wright.
‘Yeah, it is,’ Nick said. Then his eye was drawn to a black VW Golf that had slowed and parked outside the school gates. ‘Can you stop it for a moment?’
Xavier paused the footage and Nick squinted as he looked at the car. The driver’s window was down and a young man looked out as Rosie approached. It was Gareth Wright.
‘That’s her brother,’ Xavier said as he saw what Nick was looking at.
‘Yeah, I’ve had the dubious pleasure already. Does he normally give her a lift from college?’ Nick asked.
‘I’m not sure. As I said, Rosie didn’t give the impression that they get on.’
‘Yeah, he doesn’t strike me as the altruistic type,’ Nick said.
‘He was at this college for a while,’ Xavier explained.
‘What happened?’ Nick asked.
‘He was permanently excluded.’
‘What for?’
‘Drug dealing and threatening a fellow student with a shotgun,’ Xavier said, shaking his head.
‘Not really head-boy material then?’ Nick quipped. This new knowledge did little to dispel the impression that Gareth Wright was a scumbag.
As they watched the footage play, Rosie leant down and spoke to Gareth for a moment. From the facial expressions and gesturing, it was clear that they were having some kind of argument.
Backing away from the car, Rosie then kicked the car door and the front wing in sheer fury. The door opened sharply, nearly hitting Rosie.
Nick watched closely as Gareth got out of the car. He grabbed Rosie around the throat for a few seconds and then pushed her to the ground. He was clearly shouting at her. Jumping back into the car, Gareth sped out of shot, leaving a shocked Rosie still on the pavement.
Nick and Xavier shared a look – they weren’t expecting to see that.
TWO DAYS, NINETEEN hours
‘With all due respect, sir, there is a sixteen-year-old girl missing. We don’t have time to wait to see how this investigation pans out ...’ Ruth growled. She was exasperated that the investigation into Kathy Wright and the alleged smuggling of drugs and phones into HMP Rhoswen was getting in the way of their hunt for Rosie.
At the head of the table, Superintendent Jones sat listening to what everyone had to say. They needed someone of his rank to decide on how to proceed.
Ruth shifted in her seat. She needed another ciggie and more caffeine. Either side of her sat Nick and Drake.
DI Lyon and DS Buckley from the RPIT sat opposite. They seemed equally frustrated at having six months of surveillance and evidence against Kathy Wright and several other prison officers blown out of the water. Ruth knew that Lyon was right. As soon as Kathy Wright was questioned about her smuggling of drugs and phones into Rhoswen, her relationship with Frank Cole and now her relationship with Curtis Blake, the game was up.
‘You don’t have any proof that there is a direct correlation between Kathy Wright’s trafficking of drugs and phones, Curtis Blake and Rosie Wright’s disappearance,’ Lyon said, looking over at Ruth, Nick and Drake.
‘That’s true, DI Lyon. I know you’ve put hundreds of hours of manpower into your case. However, do you think it is a coincidence that Curtis Blake arrives at Rhoswen, takes over the supply of drugs and phones, and the prison officer who is controlling the smuggling ring has her daughter taken by force?’ Drake said, ever the diplomat in his tone and manner.
‘This can’t be your only line of enquiry?’ Buckley asked. Ruth could see she was angry.
‘You two didn’t answer the question,’ Nick said, getting confrontational.
Lyon glared at him across the table and sat forward. ‘The theory that DCI Drake offered is complete supposition. You’re just guessing that Curtis Blake is trying to intimidate Kathy Wright. Where’s your evidence?’ Lyon asked.
‘Hey, I’ve seen what Curtis Blake does to people he wants to intimidate. He’s a sick, evil psychopath and taking Rosie Wright is his standard MO,’ Nick sneered.
It wasn’t that long ago that Nick had worked a case where members of Curtis Blake’s gang had posed as police officers to kidnap a rival drug dealer, Gary Parsons’s, wife. Blake had warned Parsons that he was dealing on his turf and that he needed to leave Merseyside or he would regret it. When Parsons ignored the threats, Blake chopped off four of Sonia Parson’s fingers just to show how serious he was.
‘Again, that’s subjective,’ Buckley pointed out, much to Nick’s annoyance.
‘Look, we understand how much work has gone into the investigation at Rhoswen. But the link between Kathy Wright and Curtis Blake seems to be our most viable line of enquiry,’ Ruth explained.
Jones pulled his seat forward. Ruth knew that he found these types of meetings and having to make a decision difficult. Making a decision meant that Jones could choose the wrong one and could therefore be culpable if something didn’t go to plan. If he left it to others, then he could clear up the mess afterwards but claim he was not responsible. The more she dealt with Jones during her time at Llancastell, the more she resented his insipid nature and spinelessness. He was the worst kind of slick politico, and, as far as she was concerned, he had no place in the police force.
‘First, the fact that drugs are getting into Rhoswen is not a huge surprise. We know demand is so high that they’re throwing drug-filled rats over the walls there,’ Jones said.
However unpleasant the story, Ruth had heard that dead rats were being hollowed out, filled with drugs, stitched up and tossed over the prion’s walls into the recreation area. There were no ends to how inventive criminals could be to get drugs into a prison. She had heard of everything from drones to pigeons and tennis balls to hollowed-out dildos. The mind boggled.
‘Is there some kind of compromise that we can reach here?’ Jones asked, gesturing with his hand like some well-rehearsed politician.
Lyon shrugged and looked over the table. ‘DCI Drake, what’s the minimum that you need on your end?’
Drake turned his head to look at Ruth. ‘Ruth, what do you think?’
‘We need to talk openly to Kathy Wright. We need to persuade her to be honest about her relationship with Curtis Blake. Has he threatened her or her family?’ Ruth said.
‘And that ruins our case and hundreds of hours of work!’ Lyon growled.
‘Do you suggest that we wait until Blake has Rosie Wright’s ear or fingers cut off and sent to her family before we actually do anything?’ Ruth exclaimed.
Drake looked Jones. ‘Sir, given the amount of time Rosie has been missing, we do need to talk to Kathy Wright.’
‘Once you’ve spoken to her, she can’t go back to work,’ Buckley said.
‘Put her under house arrest,’ Nick suggested. ‘She doesn’t go anywhere near the prison. The staff at Rhoswen are none the wiser. They think she’s off because of Rosie. The FLO, PC Bennett, makes sure that she has no access to a phone or computer in the coming days. We follow her even if she goes for a piss.’
Jones nodded. ‘I think Nick has a good point. What do we think?’
Drake nodded. ‘It works for us, sir.’
Lyon looked at Buckley, who nodded. ‘Okay. It might work for us in the short term,’ he said reluctantly.
Jones gathered together his papers. ‘Thank you, everyone. Ashley and Ruth, keep me posted.’
As she headed for the door, Ruth’s phone buzzed and she answered it. ‘DI Hunter?’ Ruth couldn’t help but smile at the news she was hearing.
‘Boss,’ Ruth said.
‘Ruth?’
‘Sian and Luke have just found twenty grand hidden in a bag at Kathy Wright’s home,’ she said.
‘I’d like to see how she’s going to explain that,’ Drake said, raising an eyebrow.
CHAPTER 11
Three days missing
HMP Applethorn was a category-D prison in the East Cheshire countryside. The open prison was the final step for many prisoners before they settled back into society, with a far more relaxed environment including a farm and allotments that were all run by the prisoners.
It was close to dusk by the time Nick and Amanda arrived to see her father, Tony. The prison still had a strict security system for visitors. Nick felt overly protective as a female prison officer frisked and searched Amanda. But once they were beyond that, it felt like a different world. He had been to the old Victorian prisons over in Liverpool and Manchester that seemed to have come out of some dark Dickensian novel. Whereas Applethorn looked clean, modern and comfortable.
Tony met them in the gardens, which were neat and well-tended with colourful flower beds. Nick was surprised at how tall he was. Maybe six foot four. He was rakishly thin with a Roman nose and thin glasses. He and Amanda gave each other an unconvincing hug in greeting. Nick noticed that Tony’s clothes seemed to hang off him. They said very little as they made their way over to a table, which overlooked the garden and the Cheshire countryside beyond that.
Glancing out at the vista below, Tony started to clean his glasses. ‘You know, for the first couple of years, I forgot what it was like to look out at a view or a sunset. Not that I’m complaining ... Anyway, you okay, Mand?’
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