Following a tip-off from Glasgow businessman, John Madoch, police arrived at the property to find the owner Eric Sanderson (56) had blown up his family home. Our sources suggest he had used dynamite stolen from the industrial site which he worked at as an engineer. Eric Sanderson was inside the building at the time along with his daughter Mary Clark (34) and an unknown third man, thought to be a Turkish national. Daily Record readers may remember that Sanderson made headlines in 1985 after his daughter Mary accused him of abusing both herself and a young boy. At the time the allegations were ignored but it has since emerged that the driver of the bus Kovan Kocack was taken from had been driven by the known sex offender, Stevie Davidson, who was recently found dead at the Kirk o’ Shotts in Lanarkshire. A major investigation has now been launched to locate the rest of the paedophile ring, which has been operating across Scotland for some time.
John Madoch said he had come forward with the information after it was discovered a case of high explosives, meant for levelling foundations at his Moorland Wind development on Eaglesham Moor, had gone missing overnight, “Eric Sanderson had been acting oddly for some time but it wasn’t until he started asking questions about his co-workers that I started to become genuinely concerned. My company had brought Onur Kocack over from Istanbul to use his expertise during the construction of the wind farm. He was helping police with investigations into the abduction of his daughter when he went missing too. When the dynamite was reported missing from my site I suspected that Sanderson might be involved. I only wish I’d acted sooner and then maybe this tragedy could have been avoided.”
Read more on p 2,3,4,5,6,7,8
Arbogast sighed as he put down the newspaper. ‘If only I’d acted sooner.’ He could not believe the nerve of John Madoch, who had come forward and painted himself as the hero of the day. By the time he had left the farmhouse there was already a full blown media circus outside. Sandy was there along with a flotilla of uniforms and armed response teams. By that time of course there was nothing more to be done. The Sandersons and Karim were gone and Arbogast doubted that they would even find a trace of them. The truth of the matter was that the huge sinkhole which now occupied the space where the Sanderson farm had once stood was far too unsafe to merit further investigation. In his working life Arbogast had only seen total destruction like that once before, when he had to investigate a gas explosion in a small town. There had been nothing left. It had been a detached house and the force of the blast had taken away the sides of the two neighbouring houses. The only thing that survived in one piece was a fridge freezer which had been blown up on to the neighbour’s roof. Three generations of the same family had been asleep inside. And so it was with the Sanderson farm. The mineshaft discovered below the house had finally given way. The deep frost that had penetrated the limestone beneath had melted away to leave unstable holes in the rocks which could no longer support the weight above. Thousands of tonnes of earth simply shifted from topside to fill the chasm below. The force would have torn the three bodies to shreds. Arbogast sighed again. He was being praised for finding the family, for reuniting the girl with her parents, but he didn’t feel like a hero. Five people were dead; three officers including him had been violently assaulted, but they had found the girl and that was what the press and his superiors were focusing on. Maybe he was being too hard on himself but Arbogast felt as if he had failed, as if he had been once step behind all the way and had only got the result through sheer luck. The whole thing was obviously tied into Madoch but it seemed that would be impossible to prove. Arbogast had taken all the accolades for coming forward at a pivotal time but in reality he had changed nothing, other than to shift the blame away from himself. Having considered the case Arbogast felt that maybe Onur had been right, maybe their lives were bound by nothing more than fate and what had happened was meant to have happened just the way it did. Karim had been so confident of taking his brother’s place at the head of the family but something had gone wrong. He had gone wrong.
A few days later DI John J Arbogast paid a second visit to Madoch House.
“The hero returns,” Madoch said, from behind his desk, “My congratulations on all the good work Inspector. I’m glad to see the family made it through.”
“Cut the crap Madoch I’m not here on official business. You know your role in this. What was the brother doing over here?”
Madoch considered the question, slouched back on his tilting leather chair, arms draped over the rests. He had pulled in his chin for effect in a gesture which made him look fat.
“DI Arbogast you know I have a past – but it’s just that – a past. I live in the here-and-now and let’s say I have created a certain reputation for myself. The business with Sanderson was getting out of hand.”
“You knew about him – tell me about it?”
“Before we start,” Madoch stood up and moved to Arbogast. He frisked him, “A precaution.” Satisfied he didn’t have an extended audience Madoch sat back on the edge of his desk, “Eric had certain rather disgusting vices which I turned a blind eye to but his money allowed me to turn myself around. It made us both very rich.”
“So where do the Kocack family fit in? Was the girl just another child for him to corrupt with your blessing – don’t you think you have a responsibility to the families you turn a blind eye to?”
“I thought this time would be different. Onur had been doing good work for me. He was having trouble at home but he worked hard. I was going to help him get his life back on track. At first he told me he had money problems with what he called ‘bad people’ in Turkey but it was all for show. His brother was setting him up. He was angry about Hanom but he was reckless. His people wanted to tear up the contract. These things have a habit of working themselves out.”
“So you wanted to help Onur, is that it? And by forcing his wife to work as a lap dancer and putting his daughter in the care of a killer and a paedophile you thought you’d be doing him a good turn. Do me a favour!”
“I had nothing to do with the wife, but my girls aren’t badly treated. They’re well paid. Most go home after a year or so and are none the worse for their little adventure. The one big variable was Mary Clark. She was contacted by Hanom independently. We like to keep our girls safe so we let them out, but we keep an eye on them if you know what I mean. When Mary got involved the whole plan just got a lot simpler. With Sanderson being such a close associate I already knew there was somewhere to hide the girl. Bizarrely Mary wanted to take the girl there too; I think she wanted to set her father up – to expose him for what he was. Karim wanted to go back to Turkey with them. He had already arranged a way out by boat. Either way Sanderson was going to be dealt with. It was all meant to be quite straight forward but it got complicated. He made things more difficult and had quite a temper. What surprised me most though was Onur.”
“What about him?”
“He knew about the whole thing. I’m afraid that I was sucked into his plan too. Onur wanted his daughter out of the way. When you spoke to him I’ll bet he never spoke of Kovan much did he? He knew what had gone on between his wife and brother and had wanted to deal with his situation for quite some time. He just didn’t have the means. When Karim was being pressured in Istanbul it was Onur who came forward and suggested a plan of action.”
“All this was down to Onur?”
“It was all just business. I have associates in Turkey who were concerned about reputational matters. Karim was becoming a liability – he was a loose cannon and making waves where he shouldn’t. He dealt with the US side of the corporation and they weren’t happy. I suppose now everyone’s happy, more or less.”
“This whole thing was a set up.” Arbogast sat down, deflated, “A set up to get rid of Karim – but Onur clouded the whole process. But that means...”
“Don’t be too quick to judge, it is after all a rather grey area. Needless to say I have spoken to Onur. He’s agreed to take over Sanderson’s workload. I am pretty sure the Home Office will gr
ant permanent visas for the family. They’ve been through a terrible ordeal and to be trafficked like that – it wouldn’t be safe to return home would it. They can live out their lives as one big happy family. Now if you wouldn’t mind Inspector I am very busy.”
***
DI John J Arbogast and DCI Rosalind Ying were both awarded commendations for bravery. They had stood and smiled as the cameras clicked and flashed, said the right things when they were asked to and then later retired to Rab’s to mull over the events of the last few weeks.
Sandy Stirrit had taken up Arbogast’s offer of some evening hospitality, “Do you think the Kocacks will be OK?”
“Who can say, it certainly looks like Onur’s landed on his feet regardless of his motives. I’ve spoken to Hanom and she seemed quite calm about it. And anyway, we’ve no evidence to back up Madoch’s claims about Onur, so we’re stuck with his version of events.” Arbogast shook his head. “I just don’t know. Here we are, toast of the nation, but what did we do? The girl could still be getting abused. She’s in danger.”
“But you got the family out John, put your ghosts to rest,” Rosalind said. She was sipping at a large glass of Pinot Grigio, looking more relaxed than she had done for weeks. “And for your information something has been done about Onur.”
“What?”
“I phoned social services. If Kovan is Karim’s child there will be a DNA match. That will make life difficult for Onur and it’ll back up your version of events. We may have a case yet. More importantly Kovan could end up living with her mum – in safety.”
“I can’t say it makes me feel any better.”
“You’ve got to stay positive. It’s not all bad – Mhairi Reid’s doing OK too. She’ll be back with us in a couple of months.”
“That is good news,” Arbogast said before turning his attention to Sandy, “One thing has me puzzled, though, why do you think Madoch phoned the newsroom?”
“He knew I’d been looking into Sanderson. Maybe he just saw his chance. The strange thing was I had looked at the archive footage and there was something I couldn’t work out and I know what it was now – it was the well.”
“What well?”
“In the 80s footage there was an old well which had a pointed roof and a wall round it. But it wasn’t there. On the old reels the well was where the caravan is now. That must have been where he got down to his dungeon. The source must have run dry. He’d have had much more privacy getting down through his caravan than climbing down through the well entrance. How many people do you think he had down there? It makes me sick to think of it.”
“Hey, we’re meant to be celebrating and this case is closed,” Arbogast said, “The investigation into the paedophile ring has been passed over to the SCDEA. Trafficking is their thing so maybe they’ll have better luck, maybe Madoch will trip up – let’s hope so.”
All three thought the same thing but no-one said a word.
“Look guys I’ve had it, I’m going to call it a night,” Rosalind had gathered her coat and was looking to leave, “You two have probably got a lot of catching up to do anyway.”
“I’ll walk you out Rose, are you alright for a drink Sandy?”
“I’m fine John, take your time.”
When they left the pub torrential rain was bouncing off the tarmac and the streets were deserted. Arbogast walked Rosalind to the taxi rank, sheltering under a clear, domed, red rimmed umbrella.
John stopped when he noticed that Rosalind was upset.
“You’re crying Rose.” The roar of the rain almost drowned out his voice, the torrent sounding like a million marbles being dropped on a tin roof.
“We could have died John, both of us. I’ve never been in that situation before.”
“The kind of situation where you know if you don’t act you might never get the chance again?”
Rosalind looked at John but said nothing. The mist of the rain which engulfed them blocked out the rest of the world and in that moment John knew. They shared a kiss.
She pushed him away slightly, but with no real force, “I won’t stay with you tonight John. I don’t know, it’s just too soon – so much has happened. But I want you to know that I want to. I’ll come back to you when I can.”
“Thanks Rose – I’ll be in touch. You can count on that.”
The taxi arrived and she broke away and left. John watched the cab until it had turned up into George Square. Without the protection of the umbrella he could feel the rain soaking through his clothes, rivulets of water running down his back but it didn’t seem to matter.
***
Arriving at the nursing home Arbogast was surprised to see his mother had another guest, an elderly man in his seventies. He watched from the window.
“Who’s that?” he asked the duty nurse.
“That’s John,” she said, “He comes here every couple of months.”
Arbogast sat and watched for a while. The man got up and gave his mother a peck on the cheek and then left. He walked past Arbogast, giving a nod of recognition. ‘Polite, but who are you?’ Arbogast considered asking but then decided he couldn’t be bothered to hold a conversation. He went and sat by his mother who was back in her usual spot in the middle of a large semi circle of patients. They all looked pretty much the same although some were farther gone than others. One woman looked like she was still quite compos mentis but he supposed she would soon go the same way, otherwise why would she be here? Arbogast sat and watched his mother for what seemed to be an eternity, thinking – remembering what had gone before. She sat staring into space quite unmoved by the chaos which surrounded her, although she seemed more animated than he had seen her for some time. She was moving more, her face twitching. Expressions of surprise and confusion flickered over her face, each one instantly replaced by another.
“You don’t know you’re born mum.” It was a phrase she had said to him so many times in the past. She turned to face him and her eyes lit up.
“I love you Johnny,” she said beaming with bright eyes and then looked away.
“What did you say mum, what was that?”
But her mind had retreated into its perpetual confusion. For a moment, though, she’d been back – she’d been something like the woman he remembered. As his thoughts drifted to the farm and through the course of the investigation, Johnny Arbogast held his mother’s hand and shed a tear for his own disappearing world.
About the author
Originally from Ayrshire, Campbell Hart has lived in Glasgow on-and-off for the last 20 years. A qualified broadcast journalist he spent ten years working in commercial radio and at BBC Scotland before moving into PR. His debut crime novel ‘Wilderness’ was inspired by real events and the bitter winter of 2010.
The second book in the Arbogast trilogy ‘The Nationalist’ is coming soon.
For more details: www.campbellhart.co.uk
Contents
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part 2
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part 3
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
About the author
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