White is the coldest colour: A dark psychological suspense thriller (12 page)

‘Will do, Mel. Thanks.’

‘You're welcome. I’ll speak to you shortly.’

Nicholson found an empty room and rang the director of social services before leaving the child care team office. His day was about to get a lot more interesting. The phone was answered by Sheila Hoyle, the director's officious, often overbearing secretary, who acted as a self-appointed gatekeeper between her boss and the rest of the world. It was a role in which she excelled, and it took Nicholson a full two-minutes to convince her that his call couldn't wait… How many times did you have to say something was urgent?

The director was somewhat prickly when he first spoke, but he rapidly changed his attitude when Nicholson explained the reason for his unexpected call.

Approximately twenty-five minutes later Nicholson was back at social service headquarters, and knocking reticently on the director's office door. Roy Evans was sitting expansively in a brown leather swivel chair behind a large Victorian walnut desk when Nicholson entered his excessively spacious office. He got straight to the point. ‘This sounds serious, Mel. Give me the entire picture.’

As Nicholson outlined the relevant facts, the director became visibly less relaxed with each new revelation. ‘Right, Mel. You’ve got my attention, how do we take this thing forward?’

‘We’ll get a planning meeting together as soon as possible. Karen Smith is already making the necessary arrangements. It’s going to be a complex investigation, but the quicker we get on with it the better. There’s a great many children in need of protection.’

Roy Evans cocked his head at a slight angle, and held his chin between the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand. ‘That sounds fine as far as it goes, Mel. But I want you to set up a dedicated team to deal with this investigation and nothing else. I want Phillip Beringer to manage it for us. He’s got the necessary experience and cool-headed temperament for the job. Have a word with him for me, and take him to the planning meeting. The two of you need to work out how many social workers you’ll need to proceed. We can transfer them from their current teams as needed. Give some thought to who the best people are and give me a provisional list for final approval. You can involve yourself as you see fit, but keep a watching brief. I want daily updates at four each and every afternoon. I haven't got your child protection experience, Mel, but I’ve been in the job long enough to know that this case is likely to define our careers for good or bad. I don't want this to be another Cleveland. Make certain you keep me in the loop. I don’t want any surprises.’ He scratched his nose with a manicured fingernail. ‘Have you talked to the police yet?’

Nicholson paused for a second to clear his head before replying. ‘Not as yet, but once we've finished here I'll head to my office and make some calls.’

‘Fair enough, Mel, that does it for now. Get it done.’

Nicholson hurried to his office at the other side of the 1960s concrete building, and hurriedly peeled a yellow post it note from the wall above his desk. He screwed his eyes up, squinting hard, struggling to decipher Helen's terrible scribbled handwriting. He smiled… It was good news. Things were progressing quickly. The planning meeting was arranged for three-o-clock that afternoon, and everyone required would be attending.

Come on, Trevor! Answer the frigging thing.

‘DI Simpson.’

‘Trevor, it’s Mel. I’ve got something for you.’

‘Hi Mel, good to hear from you. I was planning to give you a ring myself at some point today. Things seem to be heating up a bit.’

Nicholson laughed. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘You kick off, Mel, and we’ll proceed from there.’

The inspector listened patiently as Nicholson outlined the basic facts. When he eventually stopped speaking DI Simpson remained silent for a moment, lost in thought, before finally saying, ‘Yeah, I’ve been told much the same thing at this end, Mel. But David Galbraith? Pam seems pretty certain that the Bevan girl named him, but I’ve viewed the tape; I couldn't hear the name. He’s always seemed all right to me, to be honest. Do you really think there's anything in it?’

‘It seems so, Trevor. The two younger siblings corroborated Donna’s allegations on Sunday.’

‘They're very young, Mel; I wouldn't want to rely on their evidence.’

‘Let’s wait and see what people have to say this afternoon.’

Nicholson had to make three calls before finally tracking down Philip Beringer at a child protection investigation training course at a local hotel, where he was presenting a lecture on the assessment of risk. Beringer listened intently as his old friend summarised the morning's events.

‘The director wants me to manage it?’

Nicholson laughed to lighten the obvious tension. ‘He does, Phillip. Fuck knows why? I tried to talk him out of it, but there you go.’ He paused for a response that didn’t materialise. ‘Are you still there, Phil? Are you up for it?’

Beringer ran a hand through his sparse greying hair… He wouldn't be attending any more courses for a while. Saying no wasn't really an option. Not if he was serious about a future promotion and a better pension. ‘Why not, Mel, it’s not as if I've got anything else to do.’

‘Nice one, Phil, I thought you'd done a runner for a second or two.’

This time it was Beringer’s turn to laugh. ‘Don’t think I didn't think about it. Are you doing the driving this afternoon?’

‘Yeah, I'm giving Helen a lift, she's taking the minutes. I suppose I may as well pick you up as well. I've got to make sure you actually turn up somehow.’

‘Thanks, Mel, I’ll try and get hold of a crash helmet from somewhere. See you later.’

Chapter 14

N
icholson opened the planning meeting with introductions, more for Helen's benefit than anything else, and advised the attendees what they were there to do. After a lengthy discussion that left several of the professionals wishing they were virtually anywhere else, the way forward was finally agreed. Phillip Beringer would head up the new dedicated social work investigative team, and would have day to day lead management responsibility. DI Simpson would head up a similar dedicated police team, and would liaise directly with Beringer to facilitate joint action as and when deemed necessary. Beringer would similarly liaise with the council solicitors and two local consultant paediatricians. DI Simpson would do likewise with the Crown Prosecution Service. Nicholson would act as a consultant: a sounding board and source of advice to everyone involved.

When it came to discussing the alleged involvement of Dr Galbraith, the tension in the room was virtually palpable. Several attendees expressed their grave concerns, arguing that the South Wales Health Authority should be formally advised of the situation with a view to his suspension. DI Simpson silently tolerated the impassioned arguments for a time, before eventually rising to his feet. He held both hands out in front of him with his fingers spread wide and bellowed, ‘I do not want Galbraith warned. I do not want him to have the opportunity to warn other suspects. I do not want to give these people the opportunity to destroy evidence. I do not want them to have the opportunity to silence witnesses. I understand your anxieties, really, I do. But this is a complex, high risk criminal investigation. A criminal investigation! If we act prematurely there is a very real risk we will blow it. If that happens many more children will ultimately suffer.’ He paused for a moment, meeting the eyes of each potential dissenter in turn. ‘Make no mistake. If any of you break confidence, if any of you says a single word that potentially compromises this enquiry, I will arrest you for attempting to pervert the course of justice. This is high pressure, high risk work, people. Live with it!’

After a period of stunned silence a paediatrician asked what several of the attendees were thinking. ‘What about surveillance?’

DI Simpson smirked dismissively. ‘It’s a nice idea, but that’s all it is. There’s over three-hundred of these people in this county alone. And those are just the ones we know about as of now; the number’s growing all the time. As much as we’d like to, we can’t watch all of them. And, even if we did watch Galbraith, what would we actually watch? We can't watch him when he’s at home with his daughters. We can’t watch him when he’s with his patients. We can’t watch him when he visits friends’ homes. We have absolutely no idea where or when the ring meets, or how often. It could be months before the next gathering. What use would surveillance be, even if I had the resources? Which I don’t, by the way! It would make us all feel a little better. But that’s all it would do. Look, people. Twenty-six children have already been identified, others will inevitably follow. There are numerous adults involved. I’m going to need every available officer. This is going to take time to get right. If we try and rush things or overstretch our resources, we’ll inevitably make mistakes. Nobody wants that. I certainly don’t. When we do arrest these people, I want to make it stick. There is absolutely no point at all in pulling them in and then letting them go again without charge. That would achieve precisely nothing. The second we have enough for successful prosecutions we’ll be knocking on their doors. That I can guarantee.’

Chapter 15

P
hillip Beringer slurped the creamy head from his fourth glass of Irish Guinness, and handed Mike Mailer another pint of the local Buckleys Bitter Ale. The two men met every Wednesday without fail for an overly competitive game of squash, inevitably followed by an hour or two at one local bar or another. The Caerystwyth rugby club was a much favoured watering hole. Beringer had been the best man at Mike and Molly’s wedding, and they had asked him to be a Godfather to Siân a few months later. He was flattered by the request, and happily acceded without hesitation despite his wavering faith.

Beringer grinned. ‘There you are, you miserable sod.’

‘Cheers, Phil.’

‘Do you know what, Mike. I watched a documentary the other night about inmates on death row in Texas. None of them were as miserable as you are. What’s up?’

Mike took the last Embassy cigarette from a packet of twenty, struck a match, lit the tip, and sucked on the filter hungrily, savouring the nicotine hit as the life sapping fumes filled his lungs. ‘Who the fuck are you, my mother?’

Beringer laughed. ‘One of the many down sides of being a social worker, and believe me there’s quite a few, is that virtual strangers seem to think they have the God given right to unburden themselves whenever they chose. And yet we’ve been mates for years, and you tell me fuck all. Why don't you drop the macho bullshit and tell me what the problem is?’

Mike Mailer shook his head discontentedly and quickly downed his pint. ‘How long have you got?’

‘As long as it takes, Mike. As long as it takes.’

Mike approached the bar, ordered another two pints to oil the conversational wheels, and returned to his seat. ‘It's this business with Molly and the kids. It’s doing my head in. I sometimes wish I’d never met Tina, to be honest.’

‘But you did, Mike. That’s what comes of thinking with your dick.’

‘Yeah, very helpful! Do any of your clients ever come back for a second appointment?’

Beringer grinned. ‘You're going to have to decide what it is you really want, Mike. You can either think it through logically, weigh up the pros and cons, or listen to your gut. Knowing you as well as I do, I suspect you’ll find the latter method a lot more reliable.’

‘It’s difficult, Phil. I never intended to leave Molly in the first place. I never planned to move in with Tina. It just happened.’

‘What a lot of crap! Things don't just happen, Mike. You're not some flotsam subject to the ebb and flow of the tide. You made choices at every stage. You're still making choices.’

‘Yeah, but if Molly hadn't found out…’

‘For fucks sake, Mike. She did find out. You need to grow a pair and take responsibility for what you've done. If you're serious about Tina, tell Molly that. Make it crystal clear, and let her get on with her life. If you're not, if you're serious about trying to get back with Molly, then do something about it.’

‘I’ve told Molly I’m sorry time and time again.’

‘I wonder what planet your on sometimes. What would you say if it were the other way around? What if it were Molly living with some other bloke and telling you she was sorry?’

‘Have you seen Tina? She is a very good looking girl. The sex is going to be hard to give up.’

‘Do you love her?’

Mike stubbed out his cigarette, placed the tips of his fingers together as if in prayer, and rested his elbows on the table, carefully considering his response. ‘It’s lust. I don’t love the girl.’

‘Do you love Molly?’

Mike finished his beer. ‘Yeah, Yeah, I suppose I do.’

‘Do the words cake and eat it mean anything to you?’

Mike’s face reddened, and he laughed hoarsely. ‘Yeah, I know. I’ve been a prat.’

‘You're not going to hear me disagreeing with that particular conclusion. Molly’s a cracking girl, you've got two lovely children. Wasn't that enough?’

‘I guess it should have been, but…’

‘There’s no but, Mike. You're not some kid in college. You're a father with responsibilities. They don't deserve the shit you've giving them. How the hell do you expect Molly to think your serious about you two getting back together when you're still living with the woman you left her for? Think about it, for fuck’s sake.’

‘I know, Phillip. Honestly, I know.’

‘Well, do something about it then. Stop being so fucking ineffectual.’

Mike shook his head slowly. ‘I will.’

‘How are the kids?’

‘How about another pint?’

‘How are the kids?’

‘They're still playing up, if you must know. Molly’s arranged for us to see a psychiatrist, of all people.’

‘What, you and the children?’

‘Yeah, of course us and the children. He's a child psychiatrist.’

Beringer felt his facial muscles tighten as he frowned. ‘Who's the doctor?’

‘Are you all right, Phil? You look like crap all of a sudden.’