The Devil's Cliff Killings

by Simon McCleave

‘I don’t want to know anymore,’ she yelled and squeezed until the muscles in her forearms ached. ‘I want you to die and leave me alone!’

  Kessler stopped giggling and his eyes glazed over. He was dead.

  Flinging back the duvet, Ruth leapt out of the bed and headed for the front door. She could see a shadow against the frosted glass. Someone was standing outside.

  She opened the door.

  Luke Merringer was standing there and he smiled at her. ‘Cab for a Ruth Hunter?’ he said, gesturing to the car on the drive.

  At that moment, the car exploded in a huge orange ball of flames and black smoked.

  The force of the explosion knocked Ruth backwards and off her feet.

  Ruth woke, heart pounding against her chest. Blinking and breathing deeply, she looked around her bedroom again. There was no one next to her, and the photo of Sarah was no longer on the bedside table.

  CHAPTER 17

  Four days, eleven hours

  There was a stillness and darkness over the incident room as Ruth did her best to prepare for the morning briefing. They had lost one of their own. It might have sounded corny, but she knew that Llancastell CID was really one big family. They didn’t always agree or get on, but because of the job they did, they always had each other’s backs. Merringer’s death was going to leave a big hole in her team. She had already spoken to the Regional Police Federation and the North Wales Police’s chaplain about some kind of service in memory of Luke in the coming days.

  Ruth tried to refocus on the continuing search for Rosie. Sian sat down over by a computer. They exchanged a knowing look. It would have been easier if they’d had a blazing row and could blank each other childishly.

  ‘Good morning, everyone,’ Ruth said as she moved to the centre of the room. She could feel her voice wobbling already. She needed to keep it together for the sake of her whole team. ‘I know this is going to be a very difficult day for all of us. Luke was a loyal, dedicated police officer and it was my privilege to have worked alongside him. I know that all our thoughts will be with Luke’s family, especially Katie and Gabby. There will be a collection for them going around at some point today. And I’ll keep you posted as to when the service of remembrance and funeral will take place.’

  Ruth waited for everyone to gather their thoughts. She kept expecting to look to her left and see Merringer sitting at his desk, diligently writing notes. The empty chair was haunting.

  ‘If Luke was sitting here now, he would tell us that we need to get on with the job in hand.’ Ruth pointed up to the scene boards and said, ‘We need to find Rosie Wright. And we need to find out who planted the bomb that killed Luke yesterday. Although we believe that these two investigations are linked, Luke’s murder will be investigated by the NCA. We don’t have the manpower here and I think we’re all too close to do the investigation justice.’ The National Crime Agency was the UK’s lead agency against organised crime.

  Ruth clicked the iPad and a photo of Curtis Blake came up on the screen. ‘This is still our prime suspect for Rosie’s abduction. In the past two months, Blake has taken over the illegal trade in drugs and mobile phones at HMP Rhoswen. We know that the smuggling was previously run by Frank Cole with Kathy Wright’s help. Our theory, and our main line of enquiry, is that Curtis Blake used intimidation to force Kathy Wright and her team of corrupt prison officers to work for him. For some reason, Kathy wasn’t willing to play ball. We think that Rosie’s abduction was part of Blake’s intimidation, but something went wrong, which is why there was blood found at the scene. For Rosie to be of any use to Blake, she needs to be alive, but we have no idea where Rosie is or if Blake is still holding on to his bargaining chip. Yesterday’s bomb was clearly intended to kill Kathy Wright. We assume that Blake now believes that she knows too much or just isn’t taking his threats seriously. Last year, we saw just how far Curtis Blake will go to keep any witnesses against him out of court. It’s likely that he wants Kathy dead and out of the way before she decides to talk to us. We are installing surveillance in Blake’s cell so we can monitor all his calls and all of his visitors in the hope that he makes some mention of Rosie Wright or any connection with Kathy. At the moment, Kathy Wright is under house arrest, but she is shit-scared after what happened yesterday. If I were her, I would be thinking that Blake would get to her one way or another. However, she still hasn’t told us anything. She will not admit that she has been smuggling anything into the prison or that Rosie’s disappearance has anything to do with that. There will now be an armed officer posted permanently at the Wrights’ home.’ Ruth clicked the iPad and an image of Hayley Collard appeared on the wall monitor. ‘Nick has been investigating another line of enquiry. Nick?’

  Taking a breath, Ruth sat back on a table to one side of the monitor. The base of her spine was still painful where she had bruised her coccyx. She looked around. Despite what had happened to Merringer, it had to be business as usual. The grave faces of the detectives looking back at her were full of concentration.

  Nick nodded as he moved to the front of the briefing. ‘Boss. This is Hayley Collard, aged seventeen. She is a known prostitute working in Rhyl and has a string of convictions for soliciting from the age of thirteen onwards. Hayley is working for this man’ – Nick clicked the iPad and another photo appeared – ‘Christian Vasilescu, a Romanian national who is wanted back in Romania in connection with people trafficking, drug smuggling and extortion. Hayley uses fan sites of various bands to groom vulnerable teenage girls. She particularly targets girls in care, who have been fostered or where there is some kind of abuse or addiction in the family home. She arranges to meet them secretly, knowing that if they turn up, they are worth continued grooming. Once they are hooked in, they are bribed with drugs and alcohol and then intimidated by Vasilescu and his gang. He takes them via Holyhead to Dublin, where they are forced to work as prostitutes for the Romanian gangs out there. There might be some connection between the Irish travelling community in North Wales and the Romanian gangs in Dublin. I tracked down Vasilescu to the travellers’ site at Woodburn Farm. They claim they hadn’t ever seen him but did admit they had dealings with Romanians and Roma Gypsies. I came across this man’ – Nick pressed the iPad and an image of the man with the handgun at Woodburn Farm the day before appeared – ‘Declan Brennan. Brennan has previous convictions for assault and robbery. He also has a brother, James Brennan, who is serving time for five counts of abduction, assault and holding workers against their will at travellers’ sites in Scotland. While I was there, Declan Brennan had a concealed handgun on his person. At the moment, Superintendent Jones is debating whether we go in to retrieve that handgun due to the sensitive nature of our dealings with Woodburn Farm. However, it’s worth bearing in mind for any future dealings with anyone at that site,’ Nick warned.

  ‘So, our theory is that Rosie Wright could have been groomed by Hayley Collard and Vasilescu?’ French asked.

  Nick nodded. ‘Yes. It doesn’t explain the blood in the yard. But if we go for the botched abduction theory, then Rosie could have been taken from Haddon Farm by these people. She might be being held against her will somewhere in North Wales or she may have even been taken over to Ireland.’

  ‘Thank you, Nick,’ Ruth said.

  ‘We’ve got passenger lists and CCTV for all the ferries from Monday evening onwards. CCTV isn’t very clear and you don’t need a passport to travel, just some form of ID. Rosie could have been taken out of the country without anyone knowing. I’m talking to the Gardaí’s Special Detective Unit and National Surveillance Unit in Dublin this morning,’ Nick explained.

  Ruth nodded and then looked over at Sian. She didn’t know how she felt as she looked at her. Regret, pain, anger.

  ‘Sian, what have you got?’ Ruth asked, managing to sound professional but feeling anything but.

  ‘Boss. Possible lead on Martin Hancock, who is on the sex offenders register. He was convicted of downloading and possession of indecent images of teenage boys while
he worked as a counsellor at the youth offenders’ wing at Rhoswen. It seems that he has some contact and even possible friendships with both Steven Haddon and Jason Wright. They claim that they see him at The Royal Oak pub and have a chat, but it’s nothing more than that. I’ll go and talk to the bar staff and see what I can find out,’ Sian said.

  ‘Jason Wright was at The Royal Oak on the evening of Rosie’s disappearance, wasn’t he?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Yes, boss. I have checked that with the bar staff, but I’ll dig around and see what else I can find,’ Sian said.

  French looked over at Ruth. ‘Boss. We talked to Gareth Wright about his fight with Rosie on Monday afternoon. He claims Rosie wanted him to get her and her mates some ecstasy pills for their camp out on Monday night. He refused. She threatened to tell their father that Gareth was dealing again.’

  ‘Is there anything in that?’ Ruth said, thinking out loud.

  ‘Gareth Wright was permanently excluded from Llancastell Sixth Form for threatening a student with a shotgun,’ Nick said.

  ‘See if we can tie down Gareth’s movements on Monday afternoon and evening. His alibi is still very vague,’ Ruth said to French.

  French nodded. ‘Will do, boss.’

  There were a few seconds of stillness. The briefing was over and Ruth was glad to have got it out of the way for the day. The lack of Merringer’s presence still loomed heavily over the room, and it would do for a while yet.

  ‘Thank you, everyone. It’s going to be a tough few days for all of us. Merringer was very proud to be a member of this team. Let’s go out today and continue the brilliant work we do,’ she said.

  Ruth had only experienced the death of a colleague in the line of duty twice before. The first was WPC Sharon Ross, who was based at Lewisham nick with her. They had worked on a couple of cases together and had mutual friends in the force. On 6 October 1997, Sharon was called to an incident of a man who was acting in a threatening manner on Lewisham High Street. Wayne Lavelle was a paranoid schizophrenic, high on skunk. As she went to restrain him, he stabbed her twice and she died at the scene. It was a wake-up call to Ruth at the time; sometimes police officers went out to work in the morning and never came home.

  As the team dispersed, Ruth’s attention was drawn to Nick, who had been looking at his phone intently for minutes and was now at his computer.

  ‘What have you got, Nick?’ she asked.

  ‘They’ve sent footage over from the sixth form college. Rosie’s form tutor spotted something at the college last Friday afternoon. Have a look,’ Nick explained.

  Nick looked up at the monitor on the wall, clicked his mouse and the CCTV footage appeared and began to play.

  Ruth watched intently as the video showed Rosie walking along an internal corridor towards the cafeteria in the college. She is joined by another female student who has caught her up. They talk but seem to get into some kind of argument. The girl turns and slaps Rosie hard across the face. Rosie recoils and holds her face as the girl leaves.

  ‘Can we get a closer look at the other girl?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Hang on. I’m not very good at this ...’ Nick said, trying to work the zoom function.

  Rewinding the CCTV footage, Nick paused it as the girl turns to go and zoomed in.

  It was a face that both of them recognised.

  ‘That’s Emma Haddon,’ Ruth said.

  IT WAS THE MIDDLE OF the morning, and Nick and Ruth were at HMP Rhoswen, heading for an accommodation block with DI Lyon and DS Buckley from the RPIT and Prison Governor Gordon Holmes. Ruth had received a call to say that the surveillance team were going into Blake’s cell and they needed the SIO on site.

  As they went, Holmes explained that the green paintwork had been psychologically proven to have a calming effect on prisoners. Ruth thought of how violence at this prison was statistically higher than average, but she kept the thought to herself.

  ‘Not really a deterrent, is it?’ Nick muttered quietly.

  ‘Rhoswen’s not about deterrence. It’s about rehabilitation,’ Ruth said, but her tone was a little mocking. She wasn’t sure where she sat in that debate.

  ‘X-box in your “room”, all meals cooked for you. Gym, classes, footie on the Astroturf. They even have AA meetings in here. This is a doddle compared to rehab,’ Nick whispered to Ruth.

  As they arrived at Curtis Blake’s cell, which Holmes was at pains to stress were ‘rooms’, the North Wales Police surveillance team were rigging up hidden microphones within the bed frame and under the sink. Given the serious nature of the crimes they were investigating, Ruth knew that the covert surveillance against Blake was covered by the Investigatory Powers Act of 2016. The extension of the police and security service’s powers of surveillance was a direct response to terrorist plots and attacks. However, human rights groups such as Liberty felt that these powers were too far reaching and impinged on people’s rights to privacy. They challenged the Act in the High Court. Ruth could see their point, but she was a pragmatist. Anything that allowed her and her officers to gather more information to prevent serious crime or terrorism was okay in her book. She would forgo her right to privacy for her right to feel safe, thank you very much.

  One of the officers saw them arrive and approached with an evidence bag. Inside was a tiny burner – a prepaid mobile phone. It was only three inches long.

  ‘We found this in a compartment cut into the heel of Blake’s trainer,’ the officer said to them as he held up the evidence bag.

  ‘Preferable to the usual prison wallet,’ Nick said sardonically. Many prisoners kept their tiny mobile phones up their rectums.

  The officer gestured to the phone. ‘You can buy these for between twenty and thirty pounds. In here, they’ll go for anything from two hundred to eight hundred pounds. I’ve even heard of them going for a grand.’

  Ruth looked at the phone and then at her colleagues. ‘If we take the phone, Blake will know we’re onto him.’

  ‘What’s the alternative?’ Buckley asked, looking over at the officer.

  ‘We have the phone’s ID, IMEI and SIM card number. We can trace all calls that Blake makes. We can just put it back in his trainer,’ the officer explained. ‘In fact, we can also use this phone as an extra listening device.’

  ‘Until Blake dumps it,’ Lyon pointed out.

  ‘If he doesn’t suspect we’ve been in here, he has no reason to get rid of the phone immediately,’ Nick said.

  ‘We put it back, hope he uses it for a couple of days and makes some mention of Rosie or yesterday’s bomb,’ Ruth said.

  BY THE TIME SIAN AND French turned off the A55 towards Capelulo, the sky was opaque – a uniform blanket of virtually colourless cloud. It was still hot, but it was getting close and muggy. They were on their way to talk to Emma Haddon and find out why she and Rosie had fought and Emma had slapped Rosie around the face. Although there were two ongoing major lines of enquiry, anything of significance that had happened in Rosie’s life in the days leading up to her disappearance could give them a lead.

  The atmosphere in the car was quiet. It wasn’t surprising. French was young and new to CID, and he was probably still in shock over Merringer’s death. So was Sian. They had lost their colleague Mac last year, but that was different. That was a darker, more complicated loss. With Merringer, it was cut and dried. He was a good, honest copper and a family man who had lost his life in the line of duty.

  ‘You okay?’ Sian asked French, who continued to be lost in thought.

  ‘Yeah, fine,’ French replied unconvincingly.

  ‘It’s all right if you’re struggling with what happened yesterday. I know I am. We’re not robots.’

  French took a moment and looked at her. ‘I just keep seeing his face,’ he confessed.

  ‘Yeah, so do I. Don’t buy into all that macho copper bullshit. If you need to talk about it, then you talk about it. Okay?’ Sian said to him, leaving him in no doubt that she was being serious.

  ‘Yeah, thanks,�
� French said.

  Sian had spent the previous evening at her brother’s house over in Mold. Even though there were three children in the house – her two nephews and a niece – they had a couple of spare rooms. Her brother, Phil, was minted. He ran his own estate agents and a building-development company. Her sister-in-law, Vicky, lived in the gym and fitness classes. It was clear that neither of them really understood why Sian was in love and had moved in with an older woman. She knew they thought it was weird. But they said supportive things and gave her sympathetic smiles when she arrived with her bags. Vicky said she had put clean towels in the ‘big’ spare room that was en suite.

  Sian hadn’t slept well. She felt all over the place and knew that she needed a few days to let the dust settle. If she and Ruth had any future, then Sian needed to work out if she could live with all the baggage of Sarah’s disappearance.

  As they pulled onto the bumpy track, the sun had started to burn away the clouds. The rhythmic chirruping of birds came from the trees that overlooked the yard, and the rumble of a tractor and clatter of its trailer sounded in the distance.

  Putting on her sunglasses, Sian wandered into the farm with French. A young farm worker perched on a quad bike gave them a quizzical look.

  ‘We’re looking for Emma Haddon?’ Sian said.

  ‘Out at the back. In the paddock with the horses,’ the young man said with a thick North Wales accent.

  The ground was hard and bumpy underfoot and Sian smelt the acrid waft of slurry as there had clearly been some muck-spreading somewhere on Haddon Farm.

  Up ahead, they could see Emma Haddon taking the saddle off of a beautiful chestnut horse. Wearing a dark blue riding hat and boots, Emma had obviously just finished riding.

  ‘Emma?’ Sian called as they went through the wooden gate and into the paddock.

  Putting the saddle down on a nearby fence, Emma gave them a quizzical look as she approached. ‘Is it Rosie?’ she asked apprehensively.