“Yes, please. Write her details on this sheet and we’ll be in touch to verify your statement. What about the minister of St Cuthbert’s, have you ever been to the church?”
William laughed as if the idea of him attending church was a great joke. “Me, go to church?” He started laughing anew. “Oh man, that’s rich.”
He calmed down, wiping tears from his eyes. “When you’ve been fucked by the minister, you don’t go anywhere near his fucking church. Put that in your detective guide book, Corstorphine. I don’t know who killed the bastard, and I’m happy they’ve got to the minister – but Oscar was my mate. If I had any idea who it was, I’d shop them to you now. But I don’t.” He looked them both in the eye without any sign of guile. Corstorphine was inclined to take him at face value.
“Tell me about your time at the orphanage, William. You were there from…” Corstorphine referred to a sheet of paper in his hand, “age five to sixteen. Were they good to you there? Treat you and the other children well?”
A veil came down across Booth’s face, his features at once expressionless. “I’m not saying anything about that place. I’m the one you should be defending, not treating me as a potential murderer, so either tell me what you’re charging me with or I’m out of here!”
Another self-taught bloody criminal lawyer, Corstorphine thought to himself. “We’re just trying to get to the bottom of this, William. You are one of the few people we can identify who went to that orphanage, and we believe there may be a connection with the orphanage to the recent murders. We’re just looking for your help, nothing else.”
He snarled in response. “You lot, you’re all in it together. You’re the last people I’d ever go to.”
“What do you mean, we’re all in it together?” Frankie asked.
“Not you, Frankie, but all the rest of them. We either shut up, or…”
“Or what, William?” Corstorphine’s voice came quietly.
“You work that out, big man. There’s enough of us died and nothing ever happened, nobody came.”
“We’re on your side. William. We are not the enemy. If you don’t give us any information, we can’t start to put things right for you.”
“Aye, right! I don’t believe any of you bastards. All you do is protect the rich and famous. People like us – children like us – can be killed and it’s as if we never existed.” He folded his arms in determination, lips tightly pressed together to reinforce that he’d said all he was going to say.
“Interview paused at 7:57a.m.” Corstorphine switched off the recorder and stood up. “Come with me, William, and keep quiet.”
William stood uncertainly, exchanging a worried glance with Frankie who shrugged in return. They trooped out of the interview room and followed Corstorphine down to the cells. He stopped in front of one of the doors, slid back the peephole and motioned for William to look inside.
William froze when he saw who was locked up and made to speak, until Corstorphine signalled him to keep quiet. The peephole cover was closed and they re-entered the interview room.
“You’ve banged up the old DI?” William’s incredulity showed in his voice.
“Like I said, William, we’re on your side. But we need your help – and from anyone else who knew what went on, if we are to put those responsible behind bars for a very long time.”
William sat in his seat with a stunned expression on his face. His understanding of a world that ran to an immutable set of rules, where those in power took what they wanted with impunity, had just been shattered. The implications of what this could mean, what it did mean to him and the others began to sink in. He’d read about other orphanages; other children being abused. It had never occurred to him that the truth could ever be revealed, here in a town so tightly controlled by the abusers. Threats had been enough to keep him silent, threats and the powerful people behind them. Could all of that be about to change? He looked at Corstorphine properly for the first time, tried looking beyond the policeman to see the man underneath. Frankie obviously trusted him and that settled the question for Booth. He nodded just once, a quick, decisive movement directed at Corstorphine.
“Interview resumed at 8:09 a.m. What can you tell us, William? Are there any other children who were at the orphanage we can contact?” Corstorphine felt the first glimmer of hope since the first murder had occurred, the first encouragement that he might be able to crack this case wide open before the door was bolted shut.
“Speak to Simon, Simon Battle. He’s in Barlinnie.”
“Aye, we’ve already got him on our list, William. Is there anyone else we can talk to?” Frankie pushed harder.
William shook his head. “Everyone else got the fuck away as quickly as they could. I would if it wasn’t for my shop. No, speak to Simon. He was set up by the sheriff to keep him quiet. There’s nobody going to risk speaking whilst that bastard’s running the courts.”
“The sheriff’s dead, William. We found his body yesterday evening. Believe me, you’ve nothing to fear, but we need to know what you can tell us. Help us to help you.”
William sat with a stunned expression. “The sheriff? What? Murdered?”
Corstorphine and Frankie both nodded as he looked from one to the other.
“How? What happened to him?”
“We can’t discuss that with you, William, but you’ve nothing to fear. We’re on your side but we need your help.”
Corstorphine’s impassioned plea struck home.
“Simon was set up for the GBH charge. We were all in the same gang with Oscar, the Survivors we called ourselves. Oscar wanted to call us the Ones that Lived – he used to like the Harry Potter books.” He laughed, a short mirthless sound, at the thought of Oscar enjoying reading children’s books.
“Oscar beat this random guy up, one night in town. Took a dislike to his posh accent so decked him outside the Ring of Roses, then put the boot in proper. We were standing watching, none of us wanted to get involved. Once Oscar started there was no way of stopping him – unless you wanted to end up in the same state as that poor bastard. We left him in the gutter. I guess someone must have seen something ‘cos the police siren came as soon as we’d left. Oscar was laughing about it, fit to burst. Always made him happy, a bit of violence. Anyway, out of nowhere he decks Simon, couple of punches to the face before carrying on up the road as before. Funny thing was, he wiped the guy’s blood that was all over his hands and feet onto Simon’s clothes. Deliberate, like. Turned out Oscar was a witness at Simon’s trial, said it was Simon who’d beaten the guy up and he’d heroically tried to stop him. The blood was used to frame Simon and it was the sheriff who put him away. He knew Simon wouldn’t cope with Barlinnie, it was like a fucking death sentence. I don’t know how he’s surviving in there…”
Corstorphine thought he might have an inkling of how Simon might survive inside, especially someone who’d had a lifetime of abuse.
“Will you sign a statement to this, William? If Simon has suffered a miscarriage of justice, we need supporting witnesses to get him out. We need to know who else was in your gang, in the Survivors.”
William looked trapped for a moment, as if he’d just realised that he’d committed himself to more than he’d intended. “OK. I’ll give you the names. I don’t know where most of them are now, just a couple still live here. The rest left long ago. Best thing they could have done. Those that didn’t leave either toed the line like me or ended up on drugs, or taken care of – same thing really. An early exit from a shite life,” he said bitterly.
“What names can you give us, William?” Frankie asked gently.
“Margo. Margo McDonald. She was always there, hanging onto Oscar like she couldn’t bear to leave him. Craig Derbyshire – he works as a sparky for Highlands Power. George Winter, Georgie Porgie we called him. He sleeps behind the cinema most nights, under cardboard. Begs on the streets – you’v
e probably seen him.”
“Is that all?” Corstorphine queried. “They’re the only people that witnessed the attack?”
“They’re the only ones left.”
Corstorphine sighed. “They’ll have to do. If you’re telling the truth, then we can at least put one wrong right.”
He looked William straight in the eyes. This was the part of the interview he really didn’t want to hear. “Tell us about the abuse, William, in your own words. Take your time but try and include as much detail as you can. People, places, dates. I want to know everything you can tell us about what happened to you and the other children.”
William bowed his head, but not before Frankie saw the first tears trickle down his face. He spoke in an emotionless monotone, a story too horrific, a childhood betrayed. Corstorphine and Frankie listened in anguish, only stopping to ask him to repeat a word lost in his sobs. At the end of an hour they let him go, drained of a burden he’d carried for too long. He had provided them with Lord Lagan’s name, told them how the lord enjoyed putting all his weight on their small bodies until they could no longer breathe, how some of them were never seen again. The anger in Corstorphine’s breast raged white-hot. He would use that anger, focus it where it could do the most good.
“Frankie, take Bill McAdam and track down Margo, Craig Derbyshire and George Winter. Stick them in the holding cells for the time being. Tell them they’re witnesses for a major enquiry and it’s for their own protection. Which may not be that far from the truth. I’m going to question Brian. Ask Hamish to bring him into the interview room. He’s got some explaining to do.”
XXVII
FRIDAY 9:07
Brian Rankin entered the interview room in a rage, pushing the duty sergeant’s arm away as he attempted to guide him in. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Corstorphine? Have you lost your mind?”
Something in Corstorphine’s expression took the wind out of his sails, the bluster replaced with doubt. “Just sit, Brian. Hamish – you stay here with me.”
“Sir.” The sergeant sat beside Corstorphine, wishing he was anywhere else other than facing his ex-boss in an interview room.
“Interview commencing Friday 23rd May at 9:07 a.m. Present, Detective Inspector James Corstorphine, Sergeant Hamish McKee and retired Detective Inspector Brian Rankin.” Corstorphine read out his rights and stared directly at the old DI.
“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, James, but it’s already gone too far. I want my lawyer present and I want to make my phone call. You have that on tape.”
Corstorphine nodded. This wasn’t unexpected. “That is your right. Make your call.” He passed over the old detective’s mobile. “Just the one call, Brian, and we’ll be keeping hold of your phone so don’t try and be clever.”
Brian gave him a look that would have had Corstorphine backing down previously. Not now.
“Some privacy, please, and turn the recorder off.”
Corstorphine stood up, motioning the sergeant to accompany him. He stood outside, pulling the door closed. Before it shut completely, he spoke. “And I wouldn’t rush to get out of here Brian, I don’t think it’s particularly safe for orphanage visitors at the moment.” He pulled the door shut, taking satisfaction in the old DI’s worried expression.
They watched through the glass as the ex-DI made a single call, noticed him glance towards the one-way mirror they stood behind before placing the phone back on the table. “Pass the phone out to me, Hamish, quickly. Before it needs his permission to unlock it again. Sit with him, act the daft laddie, you don’t tell him anything – alright?”
“Sir,” Hamish replied uncomfortably, his loyalties split between his new boss and the old one. He remembered the Hanging Tree though, the suicide that didn’t look like a suicide and went back into the room to pass the mobile out to Corstorphine.
A quick check of recent numbers showed that Rankin had spoken to the sheriff on five occasions that week, plus a couple of times to the Assistant Chief Constable, dating back to the first time Corstorphine had mentioned the orphanage. That explained the ACC’s sudden interest in the suicide investigation. There were a few numbers he didn’t recognise. Google returned local tradesmen, nothing of interest until he saw the local MP’s number. That call was made Monday evening, just after Corstorphine had paid his first home visit to the retired detective, and the Right Honourable Reginald Lagan had made an appearance at the police station the very next morning. Corstorphine stroked his chin. What would bring a Member of Parliament up from London overnight to put pressure on a small-town police investigation? He thought he had the answer.
The clock ticked towards 9:30. Where was that bloody solicitor? As if on cue the front door buzzer sounded. Corstorphine recognised the skull-like features of the town’s most eminent and only criminal lawyer through the glass partition. He keyed the door lock to let him enter.
“Morning, Corstorphine. Now, what’s all this nonsense with Brian in the interview room? Has there been some sort of administrative mix up or something?”
“If only. You’d better come through.” He led the way to the interview room, started the recorder and continued, “Joined by Mr Wallace Sweeney, solicitor, at 9:27 a.m.”
The solicitor made a show of pulling his own recorder out of his briefcase and extracting a folio pad and pen which he arranged carefully in front of him. “Do you mind?” He indicated his personal recorder.
“Mr Wallace Sweeney has requested that he independently record this conversation with his client. Request granted.” An audible click sounded loud in the room as the solicitor turned on his device, then settled back in his chair with watchful eyes on the detective.
“Brian Rankin, can you describe your involvement with the Sisters of Holy Mercy Orphanage that used to be situated on City Road?”
Brian and his solicitor exchanged a sharp look before the solicitor nodded imperceptibly.
“I only ever attended the orphanage in my official capacity as a serving member of the local police. There were, sadly, occasions when a child might pass away through illness, and we had by law to investigate in case there were any grounds for prosecution. None were ever found.”
“There were never any deaths that weren’t reported?”
“Of course not. This was a caring, Christian community – not some third world ghetto.”
“So, there’s no way any deaths could have occurred without either yourself or the allocated doctor being made aware?”
“No, of course not!” Brian said in exasperation.
The solicitor placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Where is this going, detective? My client hasn’t been charged with anything and is helping you voluntarily. We are within our rights to leave at any time.”
“Please bear with me, your help is much appreciated.” Corstorphine glanced at his watch, calculating how long it would be before the other witnesses showed up. “Let me get straight to the point.”
“At last!” The solicitor exclaimed with all the theatricality of someone used to performing in court.
Corstorphine ignored him. “We’ve had an allegation, a written and signed statement from one of the orphanage children who was resident at the time you were a regular visitor.”
Corstorphine read from the notes he had hastily written during the previous interview. “He states that you were aware of at least five children who died at the orphanage and whose bodies were buried in the grounds, against common law. He says he was present on one occasion when two of the children’s bodies were inspected by you and that he remembers seeing you being physically sick at the sight.”
“This is preposterous.” Brian managed to blurt out, before being cut off by his solicitor.
“My client does not have to sit here and listen to meaningless allegations. If you have no corroborating evidence – which will be the case since you haven’t been
able to charge my client – then this interview is terminated and I am advising my client to answer no comment from here on in.”
Corstorphine smiled grimly at the archaic legal language; he’d heard it all before.
“There is also the allegation that the children at the orphanage were, to your certain knowledge, regularly sexually abused by people that you knew well, and that you took no action against them.”
“No comment.” The solicitor started packing his bag and motioned Brian to stand.
“And it has also been alleged that Mr Simon Battle was framed for Grievous Bodily Harm with your knowledge and connivance to prevent him from telling the truth about the orphanage.”
Hamish looked towards Corstorphine for guidance as Rankin and his solicitor started making their way towards the door. Corstorphine continued unhurriedly. “Finally, we have evidence that the death of June Stevens in 1997 was not a suicide, and that you wilfully misrepresented her death in order to prevent the prosecution of Oscar Anderson for her murder.”
They were almost running by now, the duty sergeant’s panicked expression a response to his inability to decide what he should do. Corstorphine held a hand up to stop him from interfering with their leaving.
“And that the murders of June Stevens, Oscar Anderson, the Minister of St Cuthbert’s and Sheriff Anthony McCallum are as a direct result of your criminal inaction.”
Brian Rankin’s shocked face looked back at him as the news hit home. Corstorphine leisurely made his way to activate the door release, only for them to almost collide with Frankie and Bill McAdam leading three previous members of the Survivors gang into the station. Three additional witnesses who also had the opportunity to put the old DI behind bars.
The duty sergeant stared in confusion as the three of them filed in, each one taking a good hard look at the old DI as they walked past him, understanding in that single glance that they now held the power.
“That went about as well as I could hope for,” Corstorphine said conversationally to no one in particular. “Hamish, put our guests in the cells with the doors unlocked. I’m sorry, we have nowhere else to put you for the moment. You’re not under arrest and can walk out at any time.” He held his hands up to stop the clamour that greeted this statement. “Quiet. Listen to me. You of all people know what it’s like to have no-one to turn to, no-one to listen to you. William Booth has freely given a statement about everything, and I mean everything, that went on in that orphanage. If you can spare the time to let us interview each one of you then we might see some justice in this town, starting with getting your old friend, Simon Battle, released from wrongful arrest.”
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