‘Well, they basically rip the place apart. I’ve seen them cut open mattresses to look for drugs,’ French explained, playing along.
‘And the dogs?’
‘Don’t get me started with the dogs ...’ French said, shaking his head melodramatically.
‘DC French was admiring your car earlier, Gareth,’ Sian said.
‘That’s ten grand’s worth of wheels. How did you afford that? Student loan? Or do we need to get access to your bank account?’
Gareth sat forward. ‘All right. Point made. Rosie said if I didn’t get them the pills, she would go to our dad and tell him that I was dealing again. Which was bullshit,’ Gareth explained reluctantly.
‘And that’s why you attacked her?’ Sian asked.
‘Yeah. I didn’t mean to, but ...’ Gareth took some tobacco and skins from the table and began to roll himself a cigarette. His hands were shaking a little.
‘Are you scared of your dad, Gareth?’
‘He’s a prick,’ Gareth snorted.
‘Is that a yes?’
‘He’s not right in the head. If you’re going to talk to anyone in our family about Rosie going missing, you should be talking to him.’
Sian shot French a look – what did that mean?
‘Why do you say that?’ Sian asked.
‘He’s a fucking weirdo. Haven’t you worked that out, yet? I saw the way he looked at Rosie and her friends. It was bloody creepy, you know. It made me sick when he tried to flirt with some of them. Sad wanker,’ Gareth explained as he lit his cigarette.
Sian processed what Gareth had just said. They needed to have a very close look at where Jason Wright was on Monday evening.
AS THEY HAD LEFT HMP Rhoswen and Ruth had returned to Llancastell to debrief Drake, Nick received a call from the surveillance team in West Rhyl. They had followed Hayley Collard up to Holyhead Port with a Romanian national, Christian Vasilescu, where they were due to catch a ferry to Dublin.
Having heard all the recent intel and data coming out of the Holyhead, Nick wondered if Hayley Collard was being sex trafficked out of Wales and into Ireland. Romanian gangs had taken over the prostitution and sex trade in Dublin. There had been turf wars with local gangs and Russian traffickers. The police had only just tightened up security at Holyhead, but it was still seen as ‘soft’ by Eastern European gangs moving human traffic between Ireland and the UK mainland.
There was an added element to the intel. An eyewitness said they had seen Rosie Wright in a van with a man with dark skin at Holyhead Port. Local uniformed police officers had gone to check out the sighting. They couldn’t find the van or anyone that even looked like Rosie.
However, Nick started to put together a hypothesis. A Romanian gang in North Wales was trafficking vulnerable girls out to Dublin to work as prostitutes. They were using Hayley Collard to befriend and groom any vulnerable teenage girls that could be coerced. Rosie had been kidnapped by the gang and shipped out by ferry. The gang were taking Hayley over to Ireland that morning. It was all supposition, but it fitted together neatly.
Despite all this, Nick still favoured the hypothesis that Kathy Wright was leading a team of bent prison officers who were smuggling drugs and phones for Frank Cole. Curtis Blake’s arrival at HMP Rhoswen had signalled a new regime and put Kathy Wright in a very dangerous position if Blake wanted to put in his own officer. Intimidation and violence, especially of family members, was Blake’s MO. And, of course, Nick wasn’t deluded enough to know that he favoured any theory that would add to Blake’s time in prison.
The ferry terminal was busy. It was the height of the holiday season. Cars and vans queued in the heat, the smell of exhaust fumes and the sea was thick in the air. The dull growl of engines was broken intermittently by the caw of gulls overhead. To the right, enormous articulated lorries were parked in long rows, so close that they looked like they were interlocked as one long, metallic creature.
Taking off his sunglasses to get a clearer view, Nick parked over by the Stena ferry terminal. False Alarm, Two Door Cinema Club’s latest album had been playing on the car stereo. Nick thought its eighties retro sound was perfect for the hot weather.
The latest update from the uniformed officers was that Hayley Collard and her travelling companion had been followed all the way from Rhyl but had been lost somewhere in the terminal building. The next ferry to Dublin was in half an hour. Passports were not technically required to travel from Holyhead to Dublin. However, some form of ID was needed to travel, and a Romanian criminal gang would have no trouble getting hold of fake IDs. It would be a reasonable assumption to think they would be travelling under false names.
Once inside, Nick made radio contact with local uniformed officers and met them over by the ticket office.
‘Morning, lads,’ Nick said as he approached and showed them his warrant card. ‘What have we got?’
Even though Nick knew it wasn’t a desirable part of his character, he couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride and superiority in being a detective sergeant from Llancastell CID when talking to the wooden tops. It didn’t matter as long as he didn’t let it show and become an arrogant twat.
‘Sarge. We’ve checked the passenger list. Twelve sets of male and female passengers travelling together on the next ferry,’ the officer – male, blonde and freckled – said. His pale skin was a Chernobyl shade of red. Too much time in the sun, Nick thought.
The older officer – bald, sun-tanned and carrying some extra timber – nodded and said, ‘Checked for “Hayley Collard” and just “Hayley.” Nothing, but that’s not surprising. You can get a bloody fake driving licence online for fifty quid these days.’ His tone was dour – he’d seen it all before.
‘What about the vehicle they travelled here in?’ Nick asked.
‘We lost them as we came into the ferry terminal. We’ve checked the number plate against all the vehicles on the list. No match,’ the blonde officer explained.
‘So, they either ditched the car or are travelling on foot? Or they’ve switched vehicles or plates?’ Nick said, thinking out loud.
‘Yes, Sarge,’ the older officer said and nodded.
Then out of the corner of his eye, Nick caught sight of dyed-red hair. Dark eye make-up, high cheekbones, long silver earrings.
It was Hayley Collard.
‘Shit!’ Nick muttered as he moved away. ‘She’s over there. Red hair,’ he said quietly as he gestured to where Hayley was walking past the rows of blue seats about a hundred yards away.
For a few tense seconds, they followed her across the passenger lounge – she was oblivious to their presence.
Then a baby beside them started to wail.
Hayley was being hypervigilant. She looked over to the sound and spotted them. She took off, her rucksack bouncing across her shoulders, and sprinted away. Dying her hair from blue to red had done little to conceal her identity.
‘Great!’ Nick immediately broke into a sprint. He felt his feet clatter against the blue carpeted floor and the hot material of his trousers against his thighs. This was not a day to go chasing suspects.
A female voice made an announcement over the loudspeaker about times for boarding the ferry.
Weaving in and out of passengers, Hayley looked back to see how far away Nick and the other officers were.
Sidestepping a mother and pram, Nick pumped his arms – he was gaining on her. She looked like she didn’t know where to go next as she dodged left and then right.
Hayley made her move: over to the right towards the large glass double doors out onto the quayside. As she cut right, Nick knew immediately she was heading outside. Once there, it would be easier for her to lose them. Shit!
Glancing over at the blonde officer, who rather annoyingly wasn’t struggling for breath, Nick pointed at another set of doors.
‘She’s going outside!’ Nick yelled. ‘Cut her off that way!’
Passengers looked up from what they were doing, alarmed by the sight of police officers
running and shouting.
Calculating that the quickest way to the doors was over the rows of blue seats, Nick changed direction, took a leap and hurdled three empty seats. Waiting for his foot to catch and for him to tumble into a heap, he thankfully landed on the other side and kept his balance.
I hope someone was videoing that on their phone. It was one hell of a jump!
Crashing through the doors, Hayley disappeared out of sight. However, Nick was now only yards behind. Following her out of onto the concrete quayside, he could see the vast, white Stena ferries that loomed over everything in sight.
Glancing quickly left and right, he looked for Hayley. Where the hell is she? His attention was caught by a metallic clanging sound. She was running up a steel walkway.
‘DS Evans to all units. Suspect is heading up a gangplank to one of the ferries,’ Nick said into his Tetra radio.
However, the walkway led to a large, locked metal door. Hayley tried it with all her strength.
Nick got to bottom of the gangplank and looked up at her, trying to catch his breath.
‘Come on, Hayley,’ Nick said, gesturing for her to return the way she had come.
‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ Hayley growled at him.
‘You can jump in if you want, but I’m not going in there to save you. It’s too bloody cold,’ Nick said sardonically.
Hayley pulled out a knife from her bag. It was a six-inch lock knife that Nick knew was popular with local gangs.
‘Really, Hayley? You’re going to stab a police officer? Come on, throw the knife away or you’re going to get into serious trouble, aren’t you?’ Nick said. He was fairly certain Hayley had no intention of attacking him.
‘I’ll use it,’ Hayley said.
‘No, you won’t,’ Nick said. ‘Just throw it away, eh?’
‘I’ve used it before or don’t you believe me?’ Hayley asked.
‘Hayley, this is what is going to happen if you continue to stand there waving a knife around. Police officers are going to come down here with a Taser. If they use it, it’s very painful. They might send down some armed officers too. Or the dog unit. It’s going to be horrible and you’ll get arrested,’ Nick said calmly. ‘Or you can throw the knife in the water, come with me back to Llancastell, have a cup of tea and I can tell you why I want to talk to you.’
Hayley looked at him directly for a moment, rolled her eyes and threw the knife into the water.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ she shouted to no one in particular.
‘There you go. Let’s go and get that tea now, shall we?’ Nick said.
THREE DAYS, EIGHTEEN hours
After the debriefing with Jones, Ruth sent uniformed officers to pick up Kathy Wright and bring her back to Llancastell for questioning. Prior to the interview, Ruth and DI Lyon had gone over what they were going to ask her and what evidence they were going to present. Under Lyon’s gruff exterior, Ruth could see that he was a thoughtful officer who was focussed on why he did the job. He reminded her of some of the older officers she had worked with at the Met.
Opening the door to the interview room, Ruth saw Kathy Wright glaring back at her from across the room. She was wearing too much make-up and the top she was squeezed into was ill-fitting and tight on her arms.
‘What the bloody hell am I doing here?’ Kathy thundered.
Lyon looked over at her as he sat down. ‘Kathy Wright, you are under arrest for misconduct in a public office, supplying controlled drugs of class A and B into a prison and conveying a list-A prohibited article into a prison. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘What the fuck is going on?’ Kathy shouted and looked at her solicitor. ‘Say something!’
Ruth and Lyon put their folders down as they settled.
Watching her for a moment, Ruth could see the cogs in Kathy’s brain whirring at a hundred miles an hour.
‘Kathy, we have reason to believe that you have been smuggling drugs and mobile phones into HMP Rhoswen. You have been under the surveillance of the Regional Prison Investigation Team for the past six months,’ Lyon explained.
Looking like she had been smacked across the face, Kathy sat back in her chair, trying to get her head around what had just happened.
‘This is sick joke. My daughter has been taken by some disgusting paedo and you’re doing this?’ Kathy said with a sneer as she moved her head to give her words more emphasis. She was a long way from the vulnerable mother that Ruth had first encountered.
‘Kathy, we strongly believe that Rosie’s disappearance might be linked to your supply of drugs and phones into Rhoswen,’ Ruth said.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Kathy said, screwing up her face like she had tasted something sour.
‘You’re denying that you are smuggling drugs and phones into the prison?’ Lyon asked.
‘Of course! This is bloody stupid,’ Kathy said and looked to her solicitor again.
However many times she encountered it, Ruth was still amazed at some people’s ability to lie despite the consequences for their loved ones.
‘For the purposes of the tape, this is image two-six-seven, item reference S-I-seven-five,’ Ruth said as she slid over a photograph. ‘The image shows twenty thousand pounds in a sports bag that was recovered from your house. Could you tell us how it got there?’
‘I’ve got no idea,’ Kathy said.
‘This isn’t your money?’
‘No, of course not.’ Kathy sighed as though it was a stupid question.
‘Can you explain how twenty thousand pounds ended up in a sports bag in your house?’ Lyon asked.
‘No, I can’t. I’m not the only person who lives at that house. And anyone could have come into our house and put it there,’ Kathy said with a shrug.
That was one of the worst things about the job: when people told the most idiotic lies. They lied and tied themselves in knots. They lied even when they knew that you knew that they were lying. It’s some people’s default setting.
‘Come on, Kathy. If you don’t tell us what’s going on, how are we going to find Rosie?’ Ruth asked.
Lying to us when your daughter is out there. What kind of bitch are you? What Ruth really wanted to do was shake her and give her a slap.
‘I promise you. The money’s not mine.’
‘What do you know about a prisoner called Curtis Blake?’ Ruth asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘You don’t know who Curtis Blake is?’ Lyon asked disbelievingly.
‘For the purposes of the tape, this is image two-nine-three, item reference S-I-seven-eight,’ Ruth said as she slid over a still from the prison’s CCTV. The image showed Kathy talking with Curtis Blake in the recreation area. ‘The image shows the suspect Kathy Wright talking to a prisoner identified as Curtis Blake. According to the time-code, this conversation lasts for fifteen minutes.’
‘So what? I’m a prison officer. I talk to the prisoners. It’s not a big surprise.’
Ruth shook her head. She couldn’t believe that Kathy was going to flatly deny smuggling contraband or having any knowledge of Blake. Her daughter’s life was at stake.
‘You do know Curtis Blake then?’
‘Everyone knows Curtis Blake,’ Kathy said, giving Ruth yet another withering look.
‘What kind of relationship do you have with Curtis Blake?’ Lyon said.
‘Eh? I don’t. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ Kathy said.
‘Do you know a prisoner at Rhoswen called Frank Cole?’ Lyon asked.
‘Of course I do.’
‘What kind of relationship do you have with Frank Cole?’
‘I don’t have any bloody relationship with Frank Cole either,’ Kathy said, shaking her head.
‘And you have never brought any drugs or phones into HMP Rhoswen for Frank Cole in return for payment?�
�� Lyon asked.
‘Who told you that crap? Don’t be bloody stupid!’ Kathy sneered at Lyon across the table.
There was a silence as Ruth and Lyon realised that Kathy was going to deny everything until the evidence against her was overwhelming. It wasn’t clear whether she was keeping quiet to protect herself, her liberty or worse, Rosie.
‘What are you doing, Kathy?’ Ruth asked quietly, in a tone of complete disbelief.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just before we came in here, I saw this footage of you talking to Curtis Blake. You are clearly having an argument. If Blake threatened you or your family, you need to tell us. How else can we get Rosie back?’ Ruth said.
‘This is all bullshit. You know that. It has nothing to do with Rosie.’
‘So you haven’t been threatened?’ Lyon asked.
‘No. Everything you’ve said so far is complete bloody fantasy,’ Kathy said.
Ruth didn’t believe her. She looked frightened. Like a woman who was hanging on to the lies she was telling with all her might.
‘Don’t you want to get Rosie back?’ Ruth asked angrily.
‘Of course I do. But her going missing has nothing to do with me, so why don’t you go and do your job properly?’ Kathy asked. Ruth noticed that Kathy was now shaking – it was all getting too much for her.
‘If you’re frightened, that’s understandable. There are things we can do to protect you,’ Lyon said.
‘Witness protection? You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’ Kathy snorted. ‘You’re looking in the wrong place.’
Ruth frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘If you’d done your job properly, you’d know all about Jason and his past,’ Kathy said.
Ruth exchanged a look with Lyon. What is she talking about?
‘Jason?’ Ruth asked, slightly thrown by the complete change of direction.
‘Sex with a fifteen-year-old girl. Assault. Weird shit with his sister. Long time ago. But if you want to be pointing any fingers, you should be looking at him, not me,’ Kathy said, glaring at them.
The Devil's Cliff Killings Page 13