by John Nicholl
Nicholson opened the door and got into the rear seat. ‘All right, Grav, how’s life with you?’
‘Not bad, thanks, keeping busy.’
Simpson restarted the engine on the first turn of the key, reversed out of the tight parking space, and swung the car expertly onto the road.
‘I appreciate the lift, Trevor. What’s the news on the joint interviews? I tried to get hold of Phil for an update, but he was tied up with a case.’
‘Like I said to Grav earlier, it’s looking pretty good overall. There’s a couple more interviews going on at the moment, and I’ll need to review the tapes before coming to any final conclusions, but it seems we’re making good progress. Our Dr Galbraith may well be locked up for some time by the sound of things.’
‘Anything specific?’
‘We already had enough to charge him, but it looks as if he’s even more involved in the ring than we realised.’ He paused for a second. ‘The man’s a cunt! Some of the children were still in nappies, for fuck’s sake. Two kids described him killing animals in front of them, puppies, kittens, lambs and the like. Apparently he holds them up by the scruff and cuts them open with what sounds like a surgeon’s scalpel. The bastard told the kids he’d do the same to them if they ever said anything to anyone. It’s surprising any of them ever spoke again, when you think about it. They call the ring’s gatherings, pet club. Can you believe it? Fucking pet club! Apparently Galbraith came up with the name. Like I said, the man’s a cunt.’
Neither Nicholson nor Grav responded. What could you say in the light of such depravity?
Gravel eventually broke the pervasive silence. ‘The investigative teams have done fucking brilliantly convincing these kids it’s safe to talk. In the circumstances, you know what I’m saying. Now, it’s our turn. We’ve got to get this exactly right, everything by the book, dot the i’s, cross the t’s, no mistakes.’
Both men indicated their wholehearted agreement, following which conversation turned to rugby union—a comfortable, familiar subject close to each of their hearts. For the remainder of the journey they debated the selection of the Welsh team. It was a tried and tested means of staying sane, a reminder that normal everyday life carried on, while each and every day they dealt with the things society would prefer to deny. Each knew from painful experience that humanity had a seemingly unlimited capacity for evil. For a time they chose to forget.
The journey passed relatively quickly, and they arrived at their destination a few minutes earlier than anticipated. The car park was already busy, full of other keen early arrivals, and it took Trevor Simpson some time to find an adequate parking space on an area of muddy grass near to the entrance of the large Victorian building. The three men got out of the car, treading carefully to avoid the many puddles. As they reached the entrance, they were met by Phillip Beringer, who Grav loudly observed, ‘Looked like shit.’ Beringer had spent the morning monitoring two traumatic joint investigative interviews, and such things were never easy. Other similar interviews were ongoing at a second interview suite in another part of the county. Beringer had considered asking for the afternoon’s meeting to be postponed, but ultimately decided that protective action couldn’t be delayed any longer. It was always useful to have more evidence, but on each and every day that passed, children were in grave danger. It was a situation that was impossible to justify for a second longer than necessary, and it was time to act.
Nicholson opened the meeting by welcoming the attendees and facilitating introductions, despite the meeting being a virtual mirror image of the previous gathering just nineteen days before. It was a familiar, comforting ritual that played a small but important part in alleviating the inevitable anxieties the role entailed.
‘Trevor, I think it would be helpful if you outline exactly what we’re dealing with. I don’t want anyone to be in any doubt as to the enormity of the task at hand.’
Simpson took a notebook from his briefcase and glanced at it briefly before speaking. ‘A large group of predatory men and a small number of women under their influence are operating a paedophile ring in the South West Wales area. Children have described being taken at night to a remote rural location, which is so far unknown to us, in the back of a white van or what sounds like a cattle truck. Approximately twenty to thirty children make the journey at any one time, crammed into the back of one vehicle or another. They’ve talked of being sexually and physically assaulted by their own parents, by members of their extended family, by family friends, and by strangers. Some of the adults brought other children by car, some of whom the witnesses knew, and some whom they didn’t. From what we can tell, it’s been going on for years. Over that time, we suspect hundreds of children have been victimised. For now we’re focusing on the children who are currently at risk, but we will cast the net wider in due course. I’m sure you’ll all agree that makes absolute sense. We’ve made extensive background enquiries based on information provided by various victims who are already in the care of the local authority, or who were already working with social workers. The adults come from all walks of life, ranging from unemployed and poorly educated manual workers, to professional people in positions of influence. Intelligence suggests that local sex offenders have joined the ring as a result of knowing existing members. Others have joined from all over the United Kingdom as a result of alliances developed while serving prison sentences, or paradoxically at sex offender therapy programs run by the Probation Service. Some offenders have moved to the area, and others travel to facilitate their crimes. Members of the ring abuse their own children, each other’s children, and other vulnerable children in the community. They offend as individuals and in groups, sharing their victims when it suits them. The children range from toddlers to prepubescent boys and girls of ten and eleven years. They are manipulated into silence by misinformation, emotional pressure, threats of violence and actual violence. Some of that violence is extreme. Some of these people have been investigated previously. Some of these kids are already on the child protection register. But, none of the past investigations identified those cases as being the tip of a very large iceberg. Very few perpetrators have been successfully prosecuted for relevant offences up to this point. With your help, that’s about to change.’ He met Nicholson’s eyes. ‘The scale and nature of this is new to us all. There are going to be inevitable tensions. But, if we keep the children’s interests at the forefront of our minds, we won’t go far wrong. There have been some major cock-ups in other parts of the country. Let’s ensure we learn from their mistakes, and get this right. A lot of children are depending on us. Any questions?’
No one said a word.
For the next hour or more, Simpson and Beringer summarised the specific details of the same investigation from different, but complementary, perspectives. Beringer focused on the civil child protection aspects of the case, while Simpson concentrated primarily on criminal matters.
Nicholson was inclined to applaud when they finally concluded their well-honed presentation, but resisted the temptation. ‘Thank you both. Unless anyone wants to add anything or ask any questions, I think we can move on and agree the way forward. I know Trevor and Phil have had some preliminary discussions prior to today’s meeting, and have liaised with senior management as appropriate. Which one of you wants to start?’
The two men glanced at each other as Simpson put his notebook back in his briefcase. ‘Do you want to take the lead on this one, Phil?’
Beringer nodded. Why not? ‘The CPS has already sanctioned five arrests, four men and one woman. It looks as if the subsequent interviews have strengthened those cases, and elicited further credible evidence that should lead to two further arrests––both men.’
Simpson interrupted. ‘That’ll be confirmed by tonight at the latest.’
‘Thanks, Trevor. The suspects will be simultaneously arrested by teams of two detectives, who will in turn be accompanied by uniformed officers with specialist training in searching for physical evidence. The arre
sts will take place early in the morning, ensuring an element of surprise before those who work leave their homes. The suspects’ own children will be interviewed at one of the county’s video interview facilities by child protection police officers and social workers, following which they’ll be medically examined at South Wales General by two experienced consultant paediatricians, Doctors Sue Chandra and Nick Dali. All the children will be screened for sexually transmitted diseases, including HIV infection. At least one of the adults involved—a male with a long history of intravenous drug use—is known to be HIV positive. A team of social services resource centre workers will transport the children from their homes to the interview suites and for medicals as required. A number of suitable foster placements have already been identified.’
Nicholson smiled warmly. ‘Thanks, Phil, succinct as always.’ He looked around the room. ‘Any questions anybody? No? Then we’ll bring things to a close. Thank you all for your time. I know you’re busy people. I’ll be here all day on Thursday if any of you need to get hold of me. Don’t hesitate to pick up the phone. That’s what I’m here for. Whatever way you look at it, Thursday’s going to be a momentous day.’
42
Detective Inspector Gravel’s phone sounded at 12:53 p.m. on Wednesday 12 February, just as he was about to leave his office for a much-anticipated bacon and fried egg roll, in the notoriously terrible police headquarters canteen. He considered ignoring the demanding ringtone for a second or two, but reluctantly capitulated and picked up the receiver on the fifth ring.
‘Hello, sir, it’s June on the reception desk.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘Sir, I’ve got a young man here who wants to talk to a detective about child abuse.’
‘Young man? How old?’
‘How old are you, Rhodri?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘He’s nineteen, sir.’
‘Tell him to take a seat, and keep an eye on him. I’ll be with him in two minutes.’
Gravel smiled and held out a hand in greeting as he approached the thin, alabaster-pale teenager nervously awaiting his arrival. ‘Detective Inspector Gravel. But please call me Grav. Good to meet you.’
The young man stood, smiled tentatively, and accepted the handshake with a surprisingly firm grip.
‘Is the interview room free, June?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘If you follow me, we can talk privately.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
‘Take a seat.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Right, let’s get the basics done. What’s your full name, son?’
‘Rhodri Griffiths.’
‘No middle names?’
‘No.’
‘And you’re nineteen?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you local?’
‘I’m living in Florida these days, but I grew up in this part of the world.’
‘So what took you to America?’
‘My father’s a professor at Florida State University. We moved to the States when I was ten.’
‘Nice place?’
‘Yeah, it’s all right.’
Grav pushed a notepad and pen across the table. ‘If you write down your home address and current contact details, that’ll speed things up a bit.’
Rhodri picked up the pen and began writing.
‘So what brings you back to Wales, son?’
‘We’re visiting my grandparents in Tenby.’
‘Okay, why do you need to talk to a detective?’
‘I heard him on the radio.’
‘Who are we talking about?’
‘Galbraith!’
Gravel sat up in his seat. ‘Who’s Galbraith?’
‘He’s a child psychiatrist.’
‘So you heard this Dr Galbraith on the radio, and decided to talk to the police?’
‘Yeah, I guess it doesn’t make a lot of sense when you put it like that.’
‘Not really.’
‘My gran was listening to the radio a few days back. Galbraith was being interviewed. I recognised his voice as soon as I heard it. It was like I was seven again. I was about to switch the radio off and try to push what happened to the back of my mind like a bad dream, but then he said he was still treating children. This is probably going to sound ridiculous to you, but I hadn’t considered that before. What he might do to other children, I mean. I just focused on myself and tried to get on with my life. Does that make me sound selfish?’
‘Are you saying Galbraith did something to you when you were seven?’
‘Yeah, I think it was what you’d call an indecent assault.’
‘How can you be certain it was Galbraith?’
‘My older brother was paralysed in a mountaineering accident in Snowdonia. I couldn’t cope with the reality. My GP referred me to Galbraith.’
‘Sorry to hear about your brother, son. How many times did you see Galbraith?’
‘Just the twice, thankfully. I told Mum and Dad I didn’t want to go back, and that was the end of it.’
‘Are you saying he assaulted you at his clinic?’
‘Yeah, at the second appointment, after persuading Mum she didn’t need to be there.’
‘Did you ever see him anywhere else? Anywhere at all?’
‘No.’
‘Did you tell anyone at the time?’
‘No.’
‘Why was that?’
‘I just didn’t think anyone would believe me.’ He paused and looked away. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t laughed me out of here by now, to be honest.’
‘We always take these sort of allegations seriously.’
‘So you believe me?’
Gravel nodded. ‘Don’t quote me on this, son, but yes, I believe you.’
‘Thanks, I can’t tell you how much that means to me.’
‘You need to think carefully before answering my next question.’
‘Okay.’
‘Would you be prepared to make a formal statement?’
‘Yes.’
‘No hesitation?’
‘None at all.’
‘And would you be prepared to give evidence in court if Galbraith’s prosecuted?’
‘I’ve had nightmares and flashbacks for years. The bastard robbed me of my childhood. I want people to know what he is.’
‘You do understand that we’re going to need to talk about the specific details of what happened to you, don’t you, son?’
‘Yeah, I know.’
Gravel rose to his feet. ‘I’ll fetch the statement forms and be back with you in two minutes.’
43
Gravel checked his digital watch at 05:58:37 precisely on Thursday 13 February. Time to make a move.
He unzipped the padded purple coat that his subordinates secretly joked made him resemble the Michelin man on anabolic steroids, and opened the front passenger side door of the car.
The inspector nodded to Rankin in the driver’s seat as he got in, and acknowledged the two female uniformed search officers sitting in the back with a half-smile. ‘Morning, everyone. Time to go, Clive, my boy. I want to be knocking on Galbraith’s door at exactly six thirty. All the other arrest and search teams should be doing likewise. I don’t want the bastard having even the slightest opportunity to destroy evidence or pick up the phone to contact other offenders. We’ll break the fucking door down if we have to. What’s the news on the dog?’
Rankin rubbed his tired eyes and yawned at full volume. ‘The dog handler’s meeting us there, boss. I’ve told him you’ll kick his ass for him if he’s a second late.’
For the remainder of the journey they engaged in occasional mundane stress-busting chit-chat until Rankin eventually steered the car into Eden Road.
The DI checked his watch again. ‘This is it, Clive. Galbraith’s place is about halfway down. Stop a few houses back, we’ve got almost five minutes yet. Any sign of the dog?’
Rankin steered the car into a tight parking space,
and peered up and down the dark tree-lined street. Where the hell was he? ‘Not as yet.’
‘He’s cutting it a bit fine.’
Just as Rankin was searching for an adequate response, he spotted the dog handler’s white police van approaching in the rear-view mirror. Thank fuck for that. ‘He’s behind us, boss.’
Gravel exited the car, pointed to a parking space, and tapped repeatedly on the driver’s side front window.
PC Rob Lawler wound it down. ‘Sorry, sir, I’ve been up all night with the baby.’
‘No worries, you’re here now. That’s what matters.’ He pushed up his sleeve: 06:28:59. ‘Let’s go, we need to get in there.’
Gravel pointed towards the house, before approaching number sixty-four, Eden Road with the four officers and a white Welsh springer spaniel with dark brown markings, which was bouncing around the pavement exuding seemingly boundless energy, following close behind.
Gravel stared at the face of his watch and waited for the last few seconds to pass by before knocking hard on the glossy black door, with its misleading persona of prosperous middle-class respectability. He kept knocking with escalating force with the side of a clenched fist until the door was opened only seconds later by Cynthia Galbraith, who looked at him with bulging eyes and an open-mouthed guppy-like expression.
The inspector held up his warrant card in plain view. ‘Mrs Galbraith? Mrs Cynthia Galbraith?’