Read White is the coldest colour: A dark psychological suspense thriller Online
Authors: John Nicholl
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‘It is not unusual for victims to accuse a trusted authority figure rather than identify the actual offender, for fear of retribution.’
‘You're sounding increasingly desperate, Galbraith.’
‘You're making a big mistake, Inspector.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so, Doctor. We’ve got more than enough evidence to charge you. I’m going to give you one last opportunity to cooperate. Where’s the boy?’
‘Boy? I have absolutely no idea who you're talking about. Perhaps it would be helpful if you could be more specific.’
The DI clenched his fists tightly below the table. ‘Anthony Mailer, where is Anthony Mailer?’
‘Oh, Anthony Mailer? Anthony is my patient, but then you already knew that. Why would you think I know of his whereabouts? I first became aware that he was missing when I saw a report regarding his alleged abduction on the BBC Welsh evening news. Naturally, I am gravely concerned for his welfare. It’s a terrible business. Have you interviewed the father yet? Having met him during therapy, I think it advisable.’
‘Where is he, Galbraith?’
Dr Galbraith issued an exaggerated sigh. ‘Have I not made myself perfectly clear time and time again? It seems I need to reiterate, despite my earlier comments. I am at a complete loss as to why you think I should know the answer to your preposterous question. I think it’s you who is becoming desperate, Inspector. Is the pressure getting to you, old man?’
‘Where was he taken, Galbraith?’
‘Am I supposed to know the answer to that? Do you think I’m clairvoyant?’
‘We have reason to believe that Anthony Mailer was at your home, Galbraith.’
The doctor smirked dismissively. ‘Reason to believe? The very pretext of your question suggests a significant element of doubt in your proposition. I consider you would be well advised to stop wasting your time interviewing an innocent man, and attempt to locate Anthony before it’s too late.’
‘Molly Mailer saw you at her home seconds before she was viciously attacked. She saw you, Galbraith. She’s made a statement to that effect. Your footprints were found at the back of the cottage.’
‘Are you really that stupid, you ridiculous man? I have already explained this to you perfectly adequately; but I will try again despite your obvious limitations. Mrs Mailer has suffered a serious head injury. Most regrettable! I became quite fond of her during her son’s treatment. What you need to understand, Inspector, is that our brains can play tricks on us when subjected to extreme stress. Memories tend to become confused with dreams and even hallucinations in such cases. Anaesthetic and pain control medication can produce similar complex anomalies. I can assure you that any competent neurosurgeon or psychiatrist would tell you that her allegations are extremely unreliable at best. They certainly wouldn't qualify as credible evidence in a criminal court. Oh, and the footprints, I nearly forgot about the footprints for a second.’ He smiled and waited for a second or two before speaking again. ‘I think you'll find that there are quite a number of people with the same size feet as I. If I were to engage in such a crime, I would posses the foresight to wear the wrong size shoes. It seems a blatantly obvious precaution. I’m very sorry to disappoint you, Inspector, but that’s the way it is. Did you find any forensic evidence at my home? Anything to suggest the boy was ever there? Anything at all? I think not, or I’d have heard about it long before now.’
DI Gravel slammed the side of his right fist down hard on the table in front of him… The cunt was right. When it came to the Mailer’s, he had fuck all.
‘You must try and calm yourself down, Inspector. Getting worked up in that manner really isn't good for a man of your advancing years and fleshy build. But, I’ll tell you one thing, as a doctor you understand. If the unfortunate young man is locked up somewhere, alone in the dark, hungry and dehydrated, terrified, chained to a radiator or bedstead possibly? In some dark attic or uninhabited building for example? Well, he’s not going to last very long is he. Pure conjecture you understand.’
‘Is that some sort of convoluted admission, Doctor?’
The doctor felt his penis engorge with blood as he pictured the scene and magnified it in his mind. ‘Why would you think that, Inspector? I am simply attempting to draw your attention to the potential consequences of failing to address Anthony’s predicament with sufficient urgency. Shock tactics in my patient’s interests, so to speak. How long have you got to save him, Inspector? One-hour? Two-hours? Three-hours possibly? Or, maybe he’s dead already? What a tragedy that would be, particularly when you're wasting your limited time and resources interviewing an innocent man. The clock’s ticking, Inspector: tick, tock, tick, tock.’ He held a cupped hand up to his ear. ‘Can you hear it, Inspector?’
DS Rankin took hold of the DI Gravel's arm, and held him back as he jumped to his feet and switched the tape off. ‘Don’t let the bastard get to you, Grav.’
Dr Galbraith grinned contemptuously. ‘Temper, temper, Inspector. Given your unreasonable attitude I think it advisable to request a lawyer after all.’
‘Now you want a solicitor?’
‘If it’s not too much trouble.’
‘We’ll arrange it.’
‘I think this may well be an opportune time to request refreshments. I’m sure one of you public servants can arrange that for me?’
‘P
hillip Beringer please, it’s urgent.’
‘Grav?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s Phil, I thought I recognised your dulcet tones. What can I do for you, mate?’
‘The two Galbraith girls, have they been interviewed yet?’
‘It's happening right now, Grav. Nothing much so far, to be honest.’
‘Nothing?’
‘They’re scared of their father, that's bloody obvious, but nothing specific, nothing criminal.’
‘Okay, Phil, can you do one thing for me?’
‘If I can, Grav, what is it?’
‘Am I right in thinking that you can speak to the interview team without actually interrupting the interview?’
‘Yeah, no problem, the police officer has a small earpiece. What do you need?’
‘I need to know if either of the girls saw a young boy in the house in recent days. A seven-year old boy with short ginger hair. This is fucking important, Phil. It looks as if Anthony Mailer was at the Galbraith house.’
‘I hear you, Grav. I'll get back to you straight away if we get anything useful. Before you go, I don't think we can justify having the Galbraith girls medically examined unless something else comes up? I'll talk to Mel and see what he thinks, but I doubt he'll say any different?'
‘Oh, I’m not so sure, Phillip. There's some fucking serious allegations against their father.’
‘I’ll talk to Mel and get back to you as soon as I can.’
‘I may well give him a ring myself. One last thing before I leave you in peace: I'm sending someone over there to interview Mrs Galbraith along the same lines. As a witness at this stage, although that may change as things develop.’
‘No problem, Grav, I'll make sure there's a room free.’
D
etective Constable Myra Thomas introduced herself to Cynthia with a limp handshake, and ushered her into in a small cluttered office at the social services children's resource centre. ‘Have a seat, Mrs Galbraith, I’ll fetch us both a hot drink before we make a start. Tea or coffee?’
Was someone really going to make tea for her? ‘Tea, please, no milk or sugar.’
‘Try to relax, Mrs Galbraith. I’ll be back with you in two-minutes.’
DC Thomas pushed the door open with her foot and handed Cynthia a cup and saucer. ‘There you go, Mrs Galbraith. Let’s make a start.’
Cynthia rubbed her eyes, smearing meticulously applied mascara across one cheek.
‘What’s wrong, Mrs Galbraith?’
‘You’ve been so kind.’
‘You’ve had a difficult day, Mrs Galbraith. You're bound to be feeling emotional. Anyone would be in the circumstances.’
‘I saw my parents. They collected my daughters after their interviews. I hadn't seen them since my wedding day. The girls had never met them before.’
‘Really? How long have you been married?’
‘Over seven-years!’
‘Do your parens live a long way from you?’
‘No, just down the road.’
The detective looked puzzled. ‘Then, why haven't you seen them?’
‘My husband forbade it.’
‘He prevented you seeing them?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you scared of your husband, Cynthia?’
Cynthia Galbraith nodded ever so subtly, but said, ‘He wouldn't want me to talk to you about that.’
‘Dr Galbraith is in custody, Cynthia. He can’t hurt you anymore.’
Silence.
‘We need your help, Cynthia.’
‘Really?’
‘A child is missing, Cynthia. A seven year old little boy called Anthony with short red hair. His mother was attacked and he was taken from his home. It was a vicious assault. We believe that your husband had something to do with his disappearance. Have you seen the boy, Cynthia? Can you help us find him?’
Cynthia closed her bleary eyes, and began repeatedly rocking back and fore in her seat… Was the nice officer asking about that child the man she didn't know had carried into the house in the middle of the night? He may have had red hair? It was short, and it could have been ginger? It was hard to tell in the orange sodium glow of the street lamps. Her husband was in attendance at the time. He must know all about it. Maybe he could tell the police what they wanted to know? Perhaps it was something to do with his work? He’d told her a thousand times how important it was. It was never to be interrupted. Never! Yes, that must be it. It was probably best not to say anything at all.
Mrs Galbraith?
Silence.
‘We have very good reason to believe that Anthony is in extremely serious danger. We are talking about a child’s life, Mrs Galbraith. Can you help us find him?’
Silence.
‘Look at me, Mrs Galbraith. Open your eyes please, Mrs Galbraith.’
Cynthia opened her eyes and stared into space.
‘I am going to ask you again, Mrs Galbraith. Was Anthony Mailer at your home?'
Silence.
‘What is it you're afraid of, Mrs Galbraith? If you know anything, anything at all, you must tell me.’
Cynthia closed her eyes again, acutely aware of the accusing shadow of her husband hanging over her like an omnipresent malevolent spirit… Maybe she should tell the nice officer what she’d seen? She wanted to, she really wanted to. Perhaps she should follow her instincts? It would feel so good to help.
She opened her mouth and was about to speak, but then she reconsidered… What would her husband say if she did the wrong thing again? What would he do to her? Surely if he had the boy it must be for extremely good reasons. He was an important man with an important professional role. Perhaps it was better to say nothing, rather than say or do the wrong thing yet again?
‘Do you know anything at all, Mrs Galbraith? Can you help us find Anthony?’
Cynthia met the officers pleading gaze for a fleeting moment, and shook her head vigourously.
DC Thomas persevered for another twenty-minutes or so before reluctantly accepting defeat… If Cynthia Galbraith knew anything, which seemed decidedly unlikely, she wasn't going to tell her about it. What was it DI Gravel had said? If she didn't want to be directing traffic for the rest of her fucking career, she had better get Cynthia to talk. Or at least, that was the gist of it. He always did have such a nice way with words. Maybe it was worth running Cynthia home? One last throw of the dice. Witnesses sometimes found it easier to talk when sitting next to, rather than opposite the interviewer. It was less formal, less intimidating. A car journey would be ideal. Eye contact could sometimes get in the way of productive conversation rather than facilitate effective communication. It had to be worth a try. There was everything to gain and nothing to lose.
DC Thomas smiled, and placed a reassuring hand on Cynthia’s shoulder. ‘I’m going to make a phone call to find out if my colleagues have finished searching your house. I’ll take you home as soon as I can. Is that all right with you, Cynthia?’
Cynthia nodded.
DC Thomas took a red Parker pen from her black leather police issue handbag. ‘What's your home number?’
D
I Gravel looked up and raised his hand in silent acknowledgement as DS Rankin entered his office, before returning to his call. ‘So you didn't find anything at all?’
‘Like I said, sir, just the dog…’
‘I know all about the dog, Constable. But a dog picking up a scent isn't evidence. I can't put a fucking dog in the witness box, can I?’
‘No, sir!’
‘And you looked in the attic?’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, sir, we even had the dog up there at one point.’
The inspector exhaled loudly. ‘Enough said, Pam. If the boy was there, he’s been moved on. I need you to find out if Galbraith own’s any other properties. Something could be in his wife’s name? Give the council a ring. If I don’t hear from you within the next hour I’ll assume you haven't come up with anything useful.’
‘Okay, sir, I’ll get on with it.’
‘You do that, Pam. Oh, Pam, one more thing before you go.’
‘Sir?’
‘I’m going to send the SOCO boys over once you lot have finished, to see if they can find any traces of blood anywhere. How long before you finish the search?’
‘It shouldn't be more than another half-hour, sir. They're just putting thing’s back together now.’
‘Thanks, Pam.’
He placed the phone back on its receiver, and immediately picked it up again, listening for a dial tone. ‘Give me a minute, Clive, I’ve got a couple more calls to make.’
DS Rankin smiled. ‘The duty solicitor’s arrived, boss, some snotty kid straight out of college.’
‘Thank fuck for that. Give me a second.’
He dialled and waited.
‘Children’s resource centre.’
‘Is that you, Mel, I was after Phil, but you’ll do.’
‘What can I do for you, Grav?’
‘I was having a chat with Phil earlier about the Galbraith girls. I think they need to be medically examined, Mel. Galbraith’s one evil bastard, and he’s had unrestricted access to those girls all their lives, for fuck’s sake.’