The Devil's Cliff Killings

by Simon McCleave

  ‘I’m sorry, no. We just need to clarify a few things as part of the search to find Rosie,’ Sian explained.

  ‘Okay,’ Emma said as she unstrapped the riding helmet. Her hair was sweaty underneath and had matted.

  ‘We’ve seen some CCTV from your college from last Friday, Emma.’ French said.

  Emma frowned as she pushed her hair off her forehead. ‘Okay. I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’

  ‘We saw that you had a row with Rosie and that you slapped her,’ Sian said.

  Emma nodded and began to look upset. ‘Yeah. It was nothing. I apologised the next day.’

  ‘Could you tell us what you rowed about?’ French asked.

  Emma’s eyed moved towards the ground. Sian could see that she wasn’t comfortable talking about what had happened.

  ‘Anything, however small, could help us find Rosie, Emma,’ Sian said. ‘Even if you think it’s not relevant.’

  Emma nodded as she thought about what Sian had just said. ‘It was just a joke about my dad. I overreacted, that’s all.’

  ‘What did Rosie say about your dad?’ French asked.

  Sian could see Emma battling with what she knew she had to tell them.

  ‘Emma, please. Whatever it is, you just need to be honest,’ Sian said, sensing her hesitation.

  ‘It’s nothing awful. Rosie wanted us all to take pills on Monday night. She was going to get them off Gareth. I’d already told her that I didn’t want to, but it was her birthday. On the Friday, I told her again I didn’t want to. So she said I was really boring and that my dad wouldn’t mind because he’s cool.’

  ‘Why would she say that?’ Sian asked.

  ‘My dad’s really chilled about that sort of thing. I know he took pills and other stuff when he was younger,’ Emma explained.

  ‘So why did you slap her?’ French asked.

  ‘Because Rosie said that me not wanting to take pills was the sort of reason why my dad preferred her to me,’ Emma explained, clearly upset.

  ‘What did she mean?’ Sian asked.

  ‘It’s just what everyone jokes about. Rosie and my dad are really close, ever since she was young. And they talk about lots of stuff. Politics, music and films.’

  Sian sensed there was more to this. ‘Why does everyone joke about that?’

  ‘My friends say that my dad fancies Rosie. He doesn’t. He’s not like that. They just get on really well,’ Emma explained.

  Sian exchanged a look with French – well, that was news to them.

  CHAPTER 18

  Four days, twenty hours

  Sucking the last half-inch off her cigarette, Ruth stood out on the steps at the front of the building in the designated smoking area. She would never get used to the smoking bans. For two decades, her work as a police officer had been accompanied by a ciggie in one hand and coffee in the other. The bloody do-gooders had ruined all that for her.

  Ruth’s phone rang. It was Steven Flaherty. Instinctively, her stomach tightened.

  ‘Hi, Steven,’ Ruth said, answering.

  ‘Hi, Ruth. I imagine you’ve seen on the news about the rape and attack in Edinburgh?’ Steven said.

  ‘Yes, I have. I immediately thought of Kessler,’ Ruth said.

  ‘I’ve been in contact with the police up there. They have two eyewitnesses that saw a man quickly walking away from the scene of the attack,’ Steven said.

  From the tone of his voice, Ruth already knew what he was going to say next. ‘What did they say?’

  ‘The man they described sounds very much like Kessler. I’ll call you when I know more,’ Steven said before ending the call.

  Stubbing out the cigarette butt on the filthy cigarette bin, Ruth now hoped that Kessler had made a mistake. Something that would allow the Scottish police to find and apprehend him.

  Don’t get your hopes up, Ruth. Kessler is very good at avoiding detection and disappearing, she said to herself.

  Trying to put all thoughts of Kessler to one side, she turned and made her way inside. DCI Drake came out of the lift that she was waiting for.

  ‘I’ve spoken to the chaplain. We have a service for Luke at seven thirty p.m. tomorrow,’ Drake said and then looked at her. ‘You do know you shouldn’t be in today?’

  ‘What am I going to do at home? Gardening?’ she said, rolling her eyes. She couldn’t tell weeds from flowers and ended up pulling everything out of the flowerbeds anyway.

  ‘You got blown up yesterday, Ruth. A day on the sofa watching a box set wouldn’t be a bad idea,’ Drake said.

  When he put it like that, he had a point. But she felt she needed to be at work.

  ‘I think Game of Thrones can wait, boss.’

  ‘How did it go at Rhoswen?’ he asked.

  ‘Blake’s got more surveillance than Watergate,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Why is Kathy Wright holding out on us?’ Drake asked.

  ‘I don’t know, boss. Yesterday’s bomb has to be Blake’s work. Her daughter is missing. Blake is trying to kill Kathy, but she’s saying nothing. Her only option is to go into witness protection, but she’s laughing at that suggestion.’

  ‘Rosie’s running out of time and so is her mother. Okay, keep me posted, Ruth,’ Drake said as he turned and left the building in a hurry.

  Ten minutes later, Ruth was back in her office beside Incident Room One. She trawled through her emails and there was something from Technical Forensics. They had found a series of documents and searches that had been deleted from Rosie’s laptop. The email detailed how Rosie had built a hole within the program files in the middle of a random game in which the files were hidden as PTA files. Ruth wasn’t that interested in how she had done it. Truth be told, she didn’t understand ninety per cent of what the email said. What she was interested in was the fact that they showed that Rosie Wright had paid two hundred and fifty pounds for a fake UK driving licence, which had been sent to her three weeks ago. What troubled Ruth was the fact that the licence had a completely different name on it – Hannah O’Brien.

  Of course, it might just be a sixteen-year-old girl trying to get fake ID to buy drinks or get into a club, but that didn’t explain the need for a different name. Given Rosie’s disappearance, her need for a fake UK driving licence in a different name might have had a darker purpose.

  At that moment, Nick knocked on her open door.

  ‘Boss, something’s come over from Rhoswen that you should look at right away,’ Nick said.

  As Ruth got up, she gestured to the computer. It was still preoccupying her. ‘Three weeks ago, Rosie Wright bought a fake UK driving licence online.’

  Nick shrugged. ‘She’s not the only sixteen-year-old to buy fake ID.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. But it was also in a fake name – Hannah O’Brien,’ Ruth explained.

  ‘Which is Irish,’ Nick said as he started to think. ‘You can travel to Dublin from Holyhead on a UK driving licence.’

  ‘And if Rosie had travelled as Hannah O’Brien, then we wouldn’t have found her on the passenger lists.’

  The pieces of their theory that Rosie Wright had been trafficked to Ireland seemed to be fitting together more clearly.

  ‘Just to confuse matters, boss, have a look at this footage from two weeks ago,’ Nick said as they went over to the large screen on the wall.

  There was footage from the prison CCTV, which showed the staff security entrance at HMP Rhoswen, both outside and inside. It had been paused.

  As Nick clicked the iPad, Ruth watched the footage begin to play.

  The screen showed a figure get out of a car in the car park. Despite the baseball cap, Ruth could see immediately that it was Gareth Wright. He had a small rucksack over his shoulder as he looked around on his way to the staff security entrance, which was a single door with a video entry phone. Gareth buzzed and within thirty seconds the door had opened. Kathy Wright was standing inside. Gareth handed over the rucksack and Kathy handed him a thick envelope, which he stashed inside his jacket
. The door opened and Gareth made his way back to the car park. As Kathy walked past the prison officer, who was sitting behind a monitor and desk, she reached inside the rucksack, pulled out what looked like a sandwich box before disappearing into the staff toilets.

  As Nick stopped the footage, he looked at Ruth. ‘Now we know where Kathy gets her supply of drugs from,’ he said.

  ‘Keep it in the family,’ Ruth said as she shook her head.

  ‘I think it’s sweet that Gareth pops by the prison every day to take his mum her packed lunch,’ Nick quipped sardonically.

  ‘You think this has anything to do with Rosie disappearing?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Maybe Rosie found out what they were up to? Maybe she threatened to go to the police?’ Nick suggested with a shrug.

  ‘And they decided to shut her up?’ Ruth said, following the line of thought.

  ‘Maybe. I still think it’s more likely that Curtis Blake’s involved,’ Nick said.

  ‘That’s because, as they say in US cop shows, you have a “hard on” for Curtis Blake,’ Ruth said, raising her eyebrow. She knew that Nick’s vendetta against Blake had at times been obsessional and even got in the way of previous investigations.

  ‘The planet would be a safer, nicer place if he wasn’t on it, that’s all, boss.’

  Ruth nodded as her mind turned over the new evidence they had against Kathy and Gareth Wright. The frustrating thing was that with every new piece of solid evidence, the picture of who had taken Rosie and why became murkier and more confused.

  ‘I’ll talk to Drake now. We need search warrants for Gareth Wright’s house and car. I want SOCO all over them. Go and pick him up and bring him in for voluntary questioning, at this stage. If he resists, nick him and I’ll deal with that once he’s in custody,’ Ruth said, feeling a surge of adrenalin.

  AFTER ABOUT TWENTY minutes into the drive, Nick watched as the sun began to set in the west behind the dark plum outlines of the Snowdonia mountain range. The low orange sunlight began to tinge with darker auburn hues.

  As A Brief Inquiry into Online Relationships by The 1975 blasted from the stereo, Nick flicked on the Astra’s headlights. He pulled off the A55 and headed for Penmaenmawr, where he was going to pick up Gareth Wright. Finding St David’s Terrace, he parked across the small driveway where Gareth had parked his shiny black Golf.

  Getting out of the car, Nick tucked his sunglasses into the breast pocket of his blue shirt. He got to the front door and knocked. There was a loud bang from somewhere: the sound of a door closing.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Nick spotted Gareth dashing from the side of the house and jumping into his Golf. By the time Nick had reacted, Gareth had already started the engine.

  ‘Gareth, what the hell are you doing?’ Nick thundered as he jogged over. Nick had blocked the drive with the Astra. Where the hell does he think he is going?

  Hearing the gearbox clank, Nick realised that Gareth wasn’t going to let the unmarked vehicle stand in the way of his escape route. He was desperate. The car sped forward, ramming into the left wing of the Astra with a loud metallic thud. Revving his engine, Gareth used the Golf to push the damaged Astra out of the way and into the street until there was enough space for him to drive off the pavement and onto the road.

  Running to look at the damage, Nick immediately saw that the front passenger wheel and wing were crushed and twisted. He was going nowhere and Gareth was getting away.

  ‘Central from three-six. Suspect Gareth Wright in a black VW Golf, plate unknown, heading north on St David’s Terrace, over. Request assistance and a PNC check, over,’ Nick hollered into his Tetra radio as he ran into the middle of the road.

  A new-looking white Mini Cooper slowed to try to pass the Astra that was jutting out into the road. There were two women in their twenties inside.

  Nick flashed his warrant card and shouted, ‘Police emergency. Sorry, but I need your car.’ He yanked open the driver’s door as the terrified woman got out.

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ she said, looking astonished.

  ‘Sorry. I’ll send a car to pick you up,’ Nick said as he jumped into the driver’s seat.

  Her friend had already got out of the passenger side and looked bewildered. ‘This is mental!’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You can’t just take her car!’

  Slamming the car into gear, Nick stamped on the accelerator and roared up the road after Gareth.

  ‘Are you kidnapping me, or are you going to let me out?’ screamed a female voice from the back seat.

  Shit! Completely thrown, Nick looked around. There was a terrified young woman in the back whom he hadn’t seen when he commandeered the car. He slammed on brakes and skidded.

  ‘Jesus! I didn’t see you there. Sorry,’ Nick said.

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ the woman grumbled as she got out of the back seat and slammed the door angrily.

  Stamping down on the accelerator, Nick worked through the gears, pushing the car’s acceleration as hard as he could. Fifty miles per hour. Sixty. Seventy.

  Gareth Wright had a thirty-second start on him and a very fast Golf. Nick’s only hope was that he had been held up at the junction on the main road for a decent amount of time.

  Scanning left and right, Nick still couldn’t see him. Where the bloody hell is he?

  ‘Control from three-six. Still in pursuit of suspect but have lost visual contact, over,’ Nick said.

  ‘Three-six, received. Alpha-tango-five-seven is en route to assist. Will advise, over.’

  Then suddenly, Nick saw the red blur of brake lights up ahead. It was the back of Gareth’s Golf as it zipped out onto the main road. As he had hoped, Gareth had been slowed down by traffic.

  I’m coming for you, you fucker, Nick thought.

  Nick drove the Mini down the outside of the waiting traffic, sounding the horn. He then skidded out onto the main road. He dropped down into third and the engine roared as it strained. Up to sixty miles per hour, then seventy.

  Is the gear box going to take it? he wondered.

  Where did Gareth Wright think he was going to go? He couldn’t think he was going to go into hiding. However, if he was in business with his mum, that also put him in danger from Blake. Even on the VP wing on remand, Gareth wouldn’t be safe if Blake had people on the inside. And Blake always had people on the inside.

  As the traffic lights up ahead turned red, Gareth made no effort to slow. Flying across the junction at high speed, the Golf nearly hit a lorry. He was out of control with nothing to lose. And that made him very dangerous.

  ‘Control from three-six. Still in pursuit of suspect, travelling east on the A-three-two-five. Suspect is in a black VW Golf, plate sierra-delta-one-five, Yankee-alpha-tango, over,’ Nick said into the Tetra radio.

  ‘Three-six, received.’

  The Golf pulled out to overtake a tractor and Nick followed. Seventy-five miles per hour, then eighty. Up ahead, the unmistakable flicker of blue lights. Roadblock? Stinger!

  Red lights flared from the back of Golf. Gareth had spotted the blue lights. What was he going to do now? Give up, mate. You’re going nowhere and you’re going to kill someone trying to get there.

  And then the Golf hit the stinger. Rubber went flying into the air as the tyres burst. Nick could smell the burnt rubber coming through his air conditioning unit.

  Now driving just on the metal of the alloys, the Golf slowed steadily and then ground to a halt on the empty road.

  Nick pulled up behind.

  The driver door opened and Gareth got out with his hands up. We’re not in a film, you twat, Nick thought. I’m not going to shoot you. Bloody American reality cop television has a lot to answer for.

  Getting out of the car, Nick wondered why Gareth hadn’t continued to run. Maybe he knew the game was up?

  ‘All right, all right,’ Gareth said as he walked towards Nick.

  ‘Gareth Wright, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the supply of class-A drugs and resisting arrest. 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.’

  ‘I just need to speak to mum. Then I’ll tell you all about Curtis Blake. But you need to believe me. I don’t know where Rosie is. Honest. And while you’re chasing me, you’re not out there looking for her,’ Gareth said with a sombre expression.

  CHAPTER 19

  Five days, one hour

  Downing a large glass of wine, Ruth looked at the garden and the apricot glow of the setting sun outside. It should have been perfect, but she was feeling exhausted. The last couple of days had been horrific, both professionally and personally. The only thing keeping her awake and sane was wine.

  Ella had gone to collect her father, Dan, from the airport. He was booked into a hotel in Llancastell until his wife and child arrived a week later from Australia. They were then travelling around the country to see friends and family.

  To say that Ruth had mixed feelings about Dan’s sudden appearance in their world would be an understatement. Ella and her father were going out for dinner, and it made Ruth feel very uncomfortable. She had brought Ella up on her own with no help until she had met Sarah. She didn’t want Dan swanning in as if that was all okay. She knew that was selfish. It was what was best for Ella in the long run and having contact with her father would be good for her. However, Ruth couldn’t help feeling resentful.

  Protection by Massive Attack was playing on the stereo as Ruth tidied up for the third time. She had watched a colleague blown to pieces and had her partner walk out on her in the past forty-eight hours. There had also been a possible sighting of Jurgen Kessler in Scotland. What she really needed was to go and lie down in a dark room for a few weeks. What she didn’t need was to meet her ex-husband and have any more emotional scars picked at.

  More wine, she thought as she poured another glass. Self-medicating wasn’t healthy, but she had had more than her fair share of trauma for one week.

  Half an hour later, she heard the key in the door and felt a twinge of anxiety. What was going on? Ella was meant to be out for the evening.