The Depths

by Catriona King

  “OK, let’s think about this as unemotionally as we can. Bella Westbury was abducted in France almost three and a half years ago-”

  Des had been quiet since the computer searches had started, but now he interrupted in a quizzical voice.

  “Hang on, Marc.” He glanced around the group. “Westbury? Does no-one but me think it’s strange that she has an Irish surname?”

  Both detectives’ foreheads creased but Liam spoke first.

  “Why wouldn’t she? We’re in Ireland.”

  “But she wasn’t. Only her photograph is now.”

  Craig’s eyebrows lifted in realisation. “Of course... Why would she have an Irish surname when she was abducted in France?” He smiled at the scientist. “Well spotted, Des. I’d completely missed that. If she was Irish then that gives us a possible link to Kincaid.”

  The forensic expert made a face. “Is.”

  “What?”

  “Can we please say she is Irish instead of was? At least until we’re sure that she’s dead.”

  Craig smiled. “Fair point. We’ll only speak of her in the present tense unless we prove otherwise.”

  John interjected. “OK, but what was she doing in France then?”

  Des took that one as well. “She could have been there on holiday. Or maybe she had a French mum and an Irish dad and was there visiting relatives.”

  Craig joined in. “Or she might actually have been living there at the time. I know it’s hard to believe that anyone would ever want to leave God’s own country, but some people do leave Ireland to emigrate.”

  He smiled at Liam as he said it, knowing that while the D.C.I. would spend the odd couple of days outside Ireland if he had to for work, Germany being one trip they'd taken together, getting him to leave the country for any longer than that would take a miracle; his long suffering wife Danni had to fight him for even a week's holiday abroad! His deputy was unambiguously Irish and had both feet firmly planted in his country's soil.

  Craig stretched his arms above his head and yawned before he examined the possible scenarios; the night before had been another with little sleep because Katy had found getting comfortable nigh on impossible. The latter stages of pregnancy were no joke for the mother; in fact. he imagined that pretty much none of it was.

  He sat forward briskly in an attempt to wake himself up.

  “OK, so we have Bella Westbury, Irish, possibly abducted-”

  Liam cut in. “Hang on, boss. The file said presumed dead. So no body found? In three years?” As he said it he tried not to picture the image the words conjured.

  Craig shook his head. “That’s a good point, but-”

  “Davy’ll need to check. Boys-oh, he’s going to be busy.”

  “Ash can do some of it...”

  Ash Rahman was the squad’s junior analyst, although no-one would never have known it from the way he carried on with his boss, with a cheeky familiarity that came from him and Davy doing their masters degrees in computing together, and Davy was far too modest to point out their current difference in rank unless forced.

  “... Davy’s got some big presentation to do this week as part of his PhD, and he needs time to prepare. Anyway, so this little girl disappeared in France three and a half years ago without a trace... Liam, I want you to work with the analysts and find out the extent of the French investigation. Get a copy of their file sent over and let me know of any trail you think we should pursue. Anything that we can dig deeper on...”

  The D.C.I. gave a brisk nod.

  “...We need to find out why Stuart Kincaid might have had her photograph, legitimately or otherwise.” He looked at the scientists, “Any ideas? Just throw them out.”

  Des went first. “OK, so, the girl was very young in this photo, three or even a bit less?”

  He was answered by a nod from John.

  “And she was taken at three and three months, so the snap was obviously taken not long before she disappeared, wasn’t it?”

  John frowned. “What’s your point?”

  “Well, if she isn’t dead and Stuart Kincaid was the paedophile who took her, shouldn’t he have been carrying a more recent image of her than that?” The scientist swallowed hard, “And... maybe not such an innocent one.”

  Liam grimaced. “So she could be dead and they just haven’t found the body.”

  Craig was less negative. “I think he’s suggesting Kincaid might not have seen her since before she was abducted.”

  Des chewed his bottom lip, and part of his beard with it, which made John want to gag and decide never to grow his own as long.

  “It’s just a thought. It’s just... well that photo seems more like a memento to me.” The forensic lead’s round face became glum. “But then why did Kincaid have it at all? I mean most people don’t carry around photos of kids unless they’re related to them, do they? And Kincaid only had sons-”

  “Remember that we still need to rule out that Bella wasn’t his child as well, Des.”

  John interrupted eagerly. “So if she was Kincaid’s long-lost daughter and he was searching for her, that could be why he was carrying it.”

  Liam rolled his eyes cynically. “How old are you that you still believe in fairytales?”

  Craig ignored him, interested. “Go on, John.”

  “Maybe hunting for the girl got Stuart Kincaid killed.”

  Liam made a face. “But why hunt for her? Leaving aside your fantasy that he might be her dad, Kincaid was in shipping! He wasn’t a cop or even a private eye who was equipped to investigate. And anyway, there’s other stuff that says no.”

  “Outline it.”

  “OK, well, for one thing, how would Kincaid have found the abductor when the police case had obviously gone cold? Seventy-four percent of abducted children are found dead within three hours, eighty-nine percent within twenty-four, and the trail usually dies with them. And this is years later without even a body to give up evidence, so where would Kincaid even have found enough info to pursue?” He gestured at John, on a roll now. “And then there’s Kincaid’s lack of injuries. If a relative’s hunting for-”

  Craig cut him off. “If Kincaid wasn’t a relative, your earlier comments about that don’t apply.”

  Liam gave an irritated tut. “OK then, then why hunt at all if he wasn’t a relative? And why hunt in Ireland when the abduction was in France?”

  He looked at Craig so triumphantly that it earned him a smile.

  “OK, maybe you’re right and maybe you’re not. For now let’s just agree there was something odd about Kincaid’s death. I’m not sure yet what that was, but there may well be a link between this girl’s disappearance and his murder.”

  He scanned the group for other ideas and when none came he rose to his feet.

  “Thanks, everyone, that was useful, but we won’t get any further without some facts, so we’d better go and find them.” As he turned towards the door he glanced at his deputy. “Next steps?”

  “We need more on the girl, and what’s been going on in the Kincaid family since twenty-fifteen, particularly with the dad.”

  Craig nodded and then left the office deep in thought, leaving Liam to say their goodbyes.

  Chapter Four

  The C.C.U. The Murder Squad. Wednesday, 1 p.m.

  Craig had originally called a briefing for twelve o’clock, but Liam’s growling stomach and moaning mouth had stymied that plan, so it was fish and chips and an hour later when they finally pitched up at the squad-room, to be greeted by another person moaning; Alice, Craig’s temporary PA.

  She hurtled across the floor to greet the detectives as they entered, demonstrating her ballroom dancing honed fleetness of foot.

  “There’s a lawyer in your room from the Police Ombudsman’s office, sir! And you need to return these calls.”

  The words were accompanied by a sheaf of yellow stickies being thrust into Liam’s hand, Craig already having bolted for his room before she’d reached the end of ‘Ombudsman.’

&n
bsp; The detective threw open its door panicked, knowing that within the next minute he would learn what fate awaited his inspector and already girding himself for a fight .In the five seconds between entering and meeting his visitor’s gaze he sent up a silent hope, which hit the floor with a smash the moment he read what was in her eyes.

  By the time the solicitor opened her mouth to speak Craig was already slumped in his chair sighing, but as her name, “Sorcha Weller”, hit the air he straightened up and readied himself to battle on.

  “Thank you for coming, Ms Weller. I take it you don’t have good news for me.”

  The thirtyish woman didn’t bother to ask how he knew, merely shook her neatly bobbed head.

  “I’m sorry, but no. The Ombudsman wanted you to know of the outcome of his investigation quickly so that you could support D.I. Eakin.”

  Craig waved her to a seat, replying caustically, “Very considerate of him, I’m sure. Do pass on my thanks.” His tone changed from sarcastic to brisk. “OK, so what are his feelings on the matter?”

  It was Weller’s cue to remove a sheet of paper from the sleek handbag on her lap.

  “You’ll understand that the Ombudsman has merely laid out the findings of his investigation, but based on those the Public Prosecution Service’s view of the most likely charge is... well, you’d better see for yourself.”

  She slid the page across the desk and Craig scanned it swiftly, his eyebrows rising incrementally as the eyes beneath them moved down the page.

  “Manslaughter? They’ve got to be bloody kidding!”

  The solicitor was taken aback. Kidding wasn’t a word that she often associated with the work that she did, and she was also used to a much more deferential response from the police. But shocked though she was her exhibition of the feeling was restricted to a slight reddening of her cheeks as she responded primly.

  “The office of Ombudsman and the PPS never joke, Chief Superintendent, and I urge you to take this matter seriously.”

  Craig only half-heard the words, barely aware of and definitely un-chastised by her finger-wagging tone. When he eventually set down the page he stared straight into the solicitor’s eyes, in a way that had made serial killers quake.

  “I understand that this is your job, Ms Weller, and thank you for alerting us early, but Detective Inspector Eakin is an exceptional officer, her husband was a violent offender who appeared in her bedroom on his first night’s leave from prison, and she reacted on instinct and training when she fired.”

  He leaned forward just enough to underline what he said next without being intimidating.

  “So, first: contrary to common opinion the Ombudsman isn’t infallible, he merely investigates and writes reports; and although this may be the PPS’ first thought on charges they’ll have several hurdles to overcome before any are brought. We’ll be supporting D.I. Eakin on a plea of self defence and she’ll have the best barrister in the country defending her,” his voice hardened slightly, “even if I have to pay for them myself.”

  He stood up abruptly and extended a hand, taking the lawyer aback.

  “I don’t shoot messengers, so thank you for coming all this way, Ms Weller. By all means report my words and their tone to your boss, but I would be grateful if I could tell D.I. Eakin of these findings myself.”

  He was surprised when Weller shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, but a copy of this letter was hand-delivered to her this morning.”

  Shit! He needed to see Annette PDQ before she had a meltdown. She was a sensible woman not given to panic, but even sensible people can only deal with so much.

  The solicitor managed a small smile of sympathy as she shook his hand. “But I’ll tell the Ombudsman what you said about her innocence and I really hope that it all works out.”

  The squeeze she gave before she dropped the grip said that she’d meant the words despite his brusqueness towards her, perhaps recognising that his anger came from concern.

  As Craig opened the door for the lawyer to exit, she was almost knocked over by his deputy barrelling in.

  “Liam! Watch out!”

  The D.C.I. caught the now red-faced Weller just as she threatened to fall backwards over her chair. He straightened her up and waved her out past him, then turned urgently to his boss.

  “We need to get back to Rownton.”

  Craig shook his head. “I need to brief everyone and then we have to go and see Annette.”

  As the D.C.I.’s sandy eyebrows shot up questioningly, Craig shook his head. “I’ll tell you about it on the way. Anyway, what’s the hurry to get back to Omagh?”

  He could have sworn that his deputy was stifling a smile as he answered.

  “Because a local builder’s gone and shot himself in the head!”

  ****

  The C.C.U.2.30 p.m.

  By half-past-two everyone on the squad knew that the dead man in the quarry was named Stuart Kincaid, his cause of death was forced drowning by a strong assailant months before he’d been found by the teenagers, and that the rest of the PM evidence would have to wait.

  Craig deferred telling them about the girl’s photograph until he’d dispatched Aidan Hughes, one of the squad’s three Chief Inspectors and undoubtedly its fittest, to Rownton, to interview the farmers in its hinterland and check what more the local uniforms had found. Ryan Hendron, the squad’s detective sergeant was going with him to lead some of the interviews. The D.S. had joined the squad from Strangford the year before and had spent a lot of his time so far in court on a joint Belfast/ Strangford murder case, but now with Annette’s, potentially lengthy, absence it was time for him to step up.

  Craig gave the two men an add-on instruction to save himself a trip, that they were to, “See what the hell that builder’s suicide was about” while they were there.

  His next order came after he’d given Liam time to outline the discovery of the girl’s photograph and the details of her abduction, plus their thoughts so far on what it meant.

  “Andy, I’d like you to go and see Stuart Kincaid’s family and get them to ID his body. While you’re with them dig gently, very gently please, on any possible links that there might be with the girl. Show them her photo, but keep it casual, I don’t want any dropped hints about anything sordid. They’ll be distressed enough about the man being dead.”

  Andy Angel, the most laid back and artistic of the squad’s D.C.I.s, frowned.

  “You don’t mean the photo that you found with Kincaid, do you?”

  “No. It’s a mess for one thing, and for another there’s a chance that it was used in the appeal when she went missing in twenty-fifteen and so, even if it’s a stretch, they might catch on. One of these two can find you a better picture than that. From social media or somewhere.”

  He indicated the team’s two analysts, who were both lounging halfway down in their seats and variously, in Ash’s case fiddling with his gold earring, and rubbing at his bare neck with apparent nostalgia in the case of Davy, his boss, who after several years as a long-haired, bearded EMO come hipster had, with his fiancée Maggie’s encouragement, had everything shorn off the evening before.

  The longing with which he was stroking his nape said that he was reconsidering the wisdom of the choice already, although the fact that every woman in the building had been dropping in all morning to speak to him on pathetic excuses would have been enough in most men’s minds to say that the change had been for the good. But for the shy, and unfortunately, as far as he was concerned male-model handsome analyst, it was way too much attention for comfort and his hair couldn’t grow again fast enough.

  On Craig’s follow-up, “And take Mary along with you”, Andy’s frown turned to a smile, and it was the squad’s detective constable, Mary Li’s turn to look less than amused.

  Andy’s happiness came from the fact that he liked company, and her unhappiness was because she hated the cold and February in Ireland was definitely that. The desire to avoid the big chill prompted her scowl to convert
to an obsequious smile so fast that a lesser boss would have struggled to keep up, but Craig knew exactly what it heralded and pre-empted her coming plea before it had emerged from her mouth.

  “And no, Davy won’t need you to remain in the warm office for your computer expertise this time, Mary, but thank you anyway.”

  The constable had a computing degree and sometimes helped the team’s analysts when they were stretched.

  “Anyway, it’ll be good experience for you to meet Kincaid’s family.”

  He cast a pointed look at her bare arms and legs. Having to cover herself up outdoors was yet another reason why winter wasn’t Mary’s favourite time of year.

  “I suggest you wrap up warm. It’s cold out there.”

  Not even a father yet and already he was starting to sound like his dad.

  Craig cut the plea bargaining short by turning back to his analysts.

  “Davy, we’ll need the photo that Des found sharpened up and the original print looked at for clues. It’s not old but there’s something strange about the colour quality. We’ll also need the girl’s French police file, and any CCTV from the village and environs in Nice. I’m particularly interested in the gendarmes’ non-discovery of her body. Also, dig into Stuart Kincaid’s business and life. I want to know what, if anything, he had to do with that girl.” He paused for breath and went on. “Did you manage to sort the Rownton teenagers’ phones and emails out?”

  The analyst nodded briskly. “Yep.”

  “OK, good. Do you need me to repeat any of that?” He looked pointedly as the analyst’s hand, which was still rubbing the back of his neck. ”You didn’t write anything down.”

  “Nope.” The computer expert tapped his temple. “Memory. It’s a wonderful thing to be young.”

  His cheekiness became a laugh that Liam cut short by adding more items to his workload.

  “And the quarry, find out about that too. Rock types, when it was dug out and all that stuff. Oh, aye, and who owned it and owns it now as well. That could be important. And there are those huts near the entrance, so what’s that all about-”