White is the coldest colour: A dark psychological suspense thriller (8 page)

‘Come in, Trevor. Pull up a seat. Got time for a quick coffee?’

‘Tea, please, milk, one sugar’

Grav swivelled in his seat, reached down, and switched on a kettle in a dark corner behind him. ‘Right then, Trevor. What have you got for me?’

‘You know I’m heading up child protection for the force?’

‘I do, Trevor. I was just glad it wasn't me the brass asked, to be honest.’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean, Grav. Look, while you were away, I’ve had Jane Prichard making some enquiries for me.’

‘I thought you were non-operational?’

‘I am in the main, Grav, but needs must. Jane needed some advice, you weren't available, and it progressed from there.’

‘Fair enough,Trevor, what have you had her doing?’

‘She interviewed a young lad who mentioned being taken to a white room where he alleges he was sexually assaulted by a man he believes to be a doctor,’

‘Could be an unused hospital building, or the like?’

DI Simpson nodded once. ‘Could be, I guess? It was Dewi Williams, you handled the case.’

‘Of course.’

‘It seems it wasn't only his father.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’

‘I’ve had Jane ferreting about to see if there’s been any mention of a white room or a doctor in other similar cases.’

‘Any joy?’

‘Yeah, nothing definitive, but there may be something in it. I’d like to pursue matters further with Jane’s help, if thats all right with you?’

‘Knock yourself out, Trevor.’

DI Simpson stood and drained the dregs of his tea. ‘I was planning on paying Dewi’s father a visit at Swansea nick this afternoon.’

‘Simon Williams? Good luck with that. He's an obnoxious cunt at the best of times. Did you know he’s appealing his sentence?’

‘Yeah, you mentioned it before your leave. I may well be able to use it.’

‘It’s got to be worth a try, Trevor. Let me know how it goes.’

It took DI Simpson just over an hour to make the approximate forty-mile journey to HM Prison Swansea in the Sandfields area of the sprawling Welsh seaside city. He parked his red Mondeo in Oystermouth Road, directly below the high Victorian granite walls, opened the driver’s door, and hurriedly made his way to the main entrance just as the increasingly foreboding grey skies began to fill the air with icy drizzle that threatened to turn to snow at any minute.

The stout sanguine middle-aged guard on the door quickly checked the inspector’s name off against a list of expected visitors before enthusiastically waving him through, rather than engaging in the potentially lengthy security procedures that could potentially accompany such visits.

DI Simpson made his way through the prison’s familiar corridors to interview room three as instructed, and waited with increasing impatience while a burly prison officer escorted an extremely reluctant and orally obstructive Simon Williams from the sexual offenders unit.

DI Simpson remained seated behind a small rectangular table when the two men finally entered the brightly lit room a few minutes later, and gestured to the prisoner to take a seat opposite him. As Williams sat in brooding silence the inspector turned to the guard, who was standing just inside the door. ‘I don't need you to stay, thanks, mate. I’ll give you a shout when I’m finished, if that’s all right with you?’

‘Yeah, no probs, ring the bell on the wall behind you when you’re done.’

DI Simpson rested the palms of both hands on the grimy tabletop, and stared directly at Williams, who held his gaze momentarily before suddenly looking away. ‘I hear you're not particularly enjoying your stay here, Simon. Accommodation not up to your required standard?’

Williams shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

‘Were you expecting room service, gourmet food, or a spa facility possibly?’

‘Just get to the fucking point!’

‘I need some answers, and you're going to give them to me, Simon.’

‘Am I fuck!’

‘I hear you're appealing the length of your sentence, Simon. Be a shame if the Court of Appeal somehow got the idea you're being uncooperative.’

‘You're not going to do me any favours whatever I tell you.’

‘Well, you’re right there, Simon. I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, to be honest. But I’ll promise you one thing: I’ll do everything in my power to make your life a total misery if I don't get the information I came here for.’

Silence.

‘Am I not speaking English, Simon?’

Silence.

The DI grinned. ‘Oh, it’s going to be like that is it? How would you feel about moving out of the nonces’ wing? See what life’s like amongst the rest of the prison population. You know who I’m talking about: the hard men who can't be at home to protect their kids from scum like you.’

Silence.

‘We've been talking to your son, Simon. He had some very interesting things to tell us about things you haven't been charged with yet.’

The remaining colour drained from Williams’ pasty prison face. ‘You can’t do that.’

‘Oh, I think you'll find we can, Simon. Are you seeing any chance of an early release disappearing before your very eyes? Magic, eh! Perhaps another four or five-years is a more likely outcome?’

‘What do you want, you bastard?’

‘Now, now, Simon, no need for that.’

‘I’m waiting.’

‘You took your son to a white room, Simon. Do you remember that?’

Silence.

‘He was assaulted in that room by a man you referred to as, Doctor. Anything you want to tell me, Simon?’

‘Fuck all.’

‘Videos were made.’

‘Like fuck they were.’

The DI stared at him incredulously. ‘What’s the denial about? We know it happened, Simon. You took him from your home, you blindfolded him during the car journey, he was drugged. Stop pissing me about, man. Do you really want stay here for another ten-years or more?’

William’s looked as if he may throw up at any moment. ‘What are you asking me?’

‘Do I have to spell it out for you, Simon? Where’s the room? Who’s the doctor?’

‘No fucking way!’

‘So you confirm they exist.’

‘Fuck off. I didn't say that.’

‘Oh, you did, Simon. You did.’

‘I’ve got nothing more to say.’

‘Who’s the doctor? Where’s the room? Two simple questions. Just two answers, and I’m gone from your life for ever. No more charges; no unhelpful chat with the judge, no hateful prisoners kicking the shit out of you at every opportunity. It seems like a good deal to me. ’

A single tear ran down Williams’ cheek as he focussed on the ceiling.

‘So you'd prefer to stay here a spell longer, rather than give me the information I want?’

Williams closed his eyes tightly, and slowly nodded three times. ‘I’d happily do another ten-years, before I’d grass up that bastard.’

‘You sound as if you actually mean that, Simon? Think, and think hard. What you decide now is going to shape your life for a long time to come. ’

‘I want to go back to my cell.’

‘I’m going to give you one final opportunity, Simon. Make no mistake, I won’t be coming back here again unless it’s to charge you with further offences.’

Simon Williams rose to his feet and yelled, ‘I want to go back to my fucking cell,’ his voice reverberating with raw emotion.

DI Simpson swivelled in his chair, reached out to ring the bell on the wall behind him, and stood to leave. ‘Careful what you wish for, Simon. It’s going to be a long stay. If you have a change of heart, pick up the phone. You know where to find me.’

Chapter 11

M
olly Mailer's radio alarm clock sounded at precisely 7:00 a.m. on Friday 17, January. She listened with only passing interest as the DJ announced the next track with an enthusiasm that seemed at odds with the time of the morning, and rolled over, pulling the warming duvet tightly around herself against the penetrating morning frost. She closed her eyes briefly, telling herself unconvincingly that another five-minutes in bed wouldn't do any harm, but all too soon she accepted the inevitable and reluctantly dragged her weary body out of bed. Molly stretched, yawned expansively, and hurried to the bathroom, keen to freshen up before her teenage daughter got up… If Siân got there first it would inevitably be a frustratingly long wait.

Molly washed her hands and face with Simple unscented soap and water, brushed her teeth for a full two-minutes, and ran a brush through her sleep tangled mousy hair. After a second or two staring into the wall mirror, she inexpertly applied some subtle pink lipstick in a valiant but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to boost her flagging self-confidence. She could quite happily have gone back to bed at that point to hide from the world, but her internal voice told her to stop feeling sorry for herself, and to get on with the day ahead… It was an important day. Anthony needed help. They all needed help. Hopefully Dr Galbraith was the man to provide it.

Molly decided to enjoy a cup of her favoured herbal tea before waking her children… She could do with the brief reprieve, and it wouldn't do them any harm to get some extra sleep. Why not put the radio on in the kitchen and make herself a hot drink?

She placed a peppermint tea-bag in a mug, poured in the boiling water, spooned in an over generous helping of honey, agitated the bag with a tarnished tea spoon, and added a few drops of cold water from the tap before checking the clock. She took a large gulp, reluctantly put the mug to one side, and decided that waking her children couldn't be put off any longer after all.

‘Time to get up, you two. Dad will be picking us up in an hour. Breakfast will be on the table in five-minutes.’

Anthony shouted, ‘Thanks, Mum,’ and suddenly appeared from his bedroom fully dressed. Molly chose to ignore the predictable mumbled complaints emanating from her teenage daughter’s bedroom… Siân’s reaction could have been a lot worse given the circumstances.

Molly allowed Siân another ten-minutes before finally heading back upstairs and knocking repeatedly on her bedroom door. ‘Are you up, love? The bathroom’s free.’

‘Do I really have to go, Mum?’

Molly took a deep breath, and began counting to ten… Be patient, Molly. Be patient. ‘The doctor wants to see us all together, love. We talked about this last night, didn't we. I really haven't got time for this now.’

‘All right! All right! I get the message.’

Molly put four slices of white bread in the toaster, switched on the kettle for the second time that morning, and placed two boxes of cereal and a carton of fresh milk on the kitchen table. Anthony loved sugary cereals; but Siân had begun eating muesli with skimmed milk every morning, as part of a New Year resolution to lose weight she didn't need to lose.

Molly filled a glass with cold water from the tap, steadied herself, and took a large refreshing gulp… Should she ring Mike? What if the tart answered? She may do without that this morning, of all mornings. Was Mike really capable of forgetting such an important appointment?

She took another swig of water… He was a useless git sometimes. It really could happen if his mind were focussed on other things.

The phone rang and rang before Molly finally heard Mike’s familiar voice say, ‘Hello.’ Molly closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks that Tina hadn't answered. ‘Do you remember you're picking us up for the clinic at ten, Mike?’

‘I haven't forgotten, Molly. I was getting ready when you rang.’

‘So it’s Molly this morning, is it? What happened to Mo or love? I suppose that bloody tart’s listening? I wouldn’t want you getting into any trouble.’

‘Please, Molly, not now. I will talk to her about us, I swear.’

‘Sorry, I missed that, Mike. You seemed to be whispering?’

‘Molly, just leave it, will you! We can talk later, after the appointment if you still want to. Do I need to bring anything?’

‘No, Mike, just be on time for once in your life.’

‘Right then you two. Have you had enough breakfast?’

Anthony had just finished his second bowl of Sugar Puffs and was enjoying a glass of chilled apple juice from the fridge despite the winter weather. ‘Can I watch a video, Mum?’

‘Yes, I suppose so, cariad, but please be quick. Dad's picking us up for the doctor soon. What about you, Siân, fancy a cuppa?’

Siân rose from the table and tossed a tea bag into her mug without reply.

Molly noted the length of her mini-skirt… It was one more battle that was best postponed. Siân was cooperating, and for now that was enough. ‘Take what you need for school, love. Dad can drop you off after the doctor.’

‘What’s the doctor actually going to do, Mum?’

Molly paused before responding. ‘I don't really know to be honest, love. Dr Procter didn't really say very much about that. But I'm sure Dr Galbraith will help sort things out. Come on, love, finish getting ready. Dad will be here in about ten-minutes.’

Siân looked pensively towards the floor. ‘He's not bringing that tart with him is he, Mum?’

Molly couldn't help but smile. ‘No, love, the tart won't be coming.’

Mike Mailer parked his shiny new Arctic white Ford Escort XR 3 convertible sports saloon outside the detached Welsh stone cottage he had shared with his wife and children. He’d borrowed the full cost of the car by taking advantage of an employees preferential loan rate from the bank, after Tina persuaded him that it was high time he prioritised their needs above those of Molly and the children. Mike had serious misgivings at the time, and was badly regretting capitulating… What the hell was Mo going to say when she saw the car for the first time? He hadn't been as forthcoming with money for the kids as he should have been due to the loan repayments. Whatever she said, it wouldn't be pretty. And what would he say in response? What could he say? He was in the wrong. That was blatantly obvious to anyone.

Mike turned off the engine… Should he knock on the front door, or just sound the horn and wait?

He went to open the car door, but changed his mind almost immediately and pressed the horn hard three times… He just couldn't face going into the building that had so recently been his home.