Depth of Despair (21 page)

‘Very well. But be aware I won’t stop until I’m satisfied you’ve told us everything. No more lies, no more half truths.’

‘I don’t own the clinic. My name is on the paperwork but Wardle owns it. He set me up there when we left the army. Originally, all he asked me to do was to treat one or two girls who’d got infected. I was already getting a reputation for
transplant
surgery, so Wardle paid for an extension to house an operating suite. Then he and Hill started bringing the girls for organ removal. There was a big demand in both Britain and Europe. It was a lucrative market. As soon as the organs had been removed they were despatched as fast as possible; there was only a limited time before they became unusable.’

‘How were they transported?’

‘I wasn’t involved in that. All I can tell you is they were packed carefully in dry ice and put into special containers. Hill collected them. That was the last I saw of them. Some didn’t get sent away, though. If they’d been sold within Britain I carried out the
transplants
at the clinic. Anywhere else and people would ask awkward questions.’

‘These transplants. Did Dr Stevens assist?’

‘Yes, he acted as my anaesthetist. He started getting cold feet once he realized what he’d got involved in. Wardle ordered Hill to silence him before he could blow the whistle. He was told to make it look like an accident.’

‘Well, it didn’t. What did they pay you for your services?’

‘I was paid part of the fee for the transplants and part of the sale price for organs that were shipped elsewhere. I was also supplied,’ Butler paused and looked away, looking, if possible, even more uncomfortable. ‘I mean they brought girls for me sometimes.’

Clara felt vomit rise at the back of her throat and clamped her lips together, her hand over her mouth. Nash continued to stare at the prisoner. The solicitor was looking at Nash, shock apparent on his face.

‘One more thing and then we’ll suspend this interview,’ Nash told him. ‘I don’t know about my colleagues, but I’m sick of the sight and sound of you. Before we switch the tape off can you tell me how Wardle and Hill intended to escape? The other night at the clinic, Wardle obviously had a plan. Do you know how they were going to do that?’

‘They planned to go abroad but I’ve no idea where or how.’

‘Is that everything?’

Throughout it all, Butler had spoken in a low monotone, not investing any of his words or phrases with the slightest inflexion. Clara’s eyes strayed from time to time to the sound level indicator on the tape recorder. Her concern that Butler might have been speaking too softly for the tape was only marginally relieved by the flickering needle.

There was a long silence before Butler spoke again. If anything his voice was even quieter. ‘Yes,’ he muttered, ‘there is one other thing. I have … that is … at my house … you see there’s a girl …’

Nash jumped to his feet, his chair clattered across the floor. ‘All the time you’ve been here in a cell you’ve had a girl prisoner in your house? You sat there and didn’t tell us? Didn’t think it was important? Or is it that you’re so divorced from decency you didn’t think one more girl mattered?’

‘She has food and water,’ Butler said defensively.

‘Sergeant,’ Nash turned to Clara. ‘Close the tape off. I’m
terminating
this interview. Then get this piece of shit out of here before I say or do something I’d regret. He disgusts me.’ He turned back to Butler, his anger barely under control. ‘Where is she?’

Butler’s head hung lower. ‘Garage,’ was his only response.

‘Come on Zena,’ Nash urged. ‘We’ll get Jackie and find this poor child.’

‘Why hasn’t Butler’s house been searched?’ Zena asked as they hurried down the corridor.

‘That’s my fault. We’ve been concentrating so hard on Wardle and Hill that I forgot about Butler’s home. I just hope the kid’s alright.’

Butler’s house was a large, detached stone building on the moor road out of Netherdale. They directed their attention to the double garage.

They entered by a door in the side wall. The first half of the garage was just that, but there was a dividing wall running down the middle of the building. The only door to the second section was bolted and padlocked. ‘This must be it,’ Nash muttered angrily as he sorted through Butler’s keys.

The inner part was divided into a kitchenette, a shower cubicle
and toilet and a bedsitting room. In this room they found the sole occupant. A slender, black haired girl of no more than twelve who was sitting huddled against the wall, her eyes wide and her body trembling with fear.

The child’s terror transmuted into bewilderment as she saw the intruders were not who she expected or dreaded. She stared in shocked disbelief as Zena addressed her in Russian. Then she burst into tears, tears Nash guessed were part relief, part shame. The women hurried over to the girl, Zena knelt alongside her, putting an arm around the child’s shaking shoulders and smoothing her hair as she talked to her in a whisper.

Nash coughed. ‘I’ll wait outside.’

As he returned to the first part of the garage Nash kicked savagely at an empty cardboard box. Twenty minutes later Zena and Jackie emerged with the child. Each had a protective arm around her. ‘Mikhail, this is Lyuba,’ Zena told him, adding, ‘perhaps her name is a good omen. It means love.’

Nash smiled and said hello. The little girl stared back with wide, frightened eyes that Nash knew would haunt his dreams for a long time. ‘It is alright,’ Zena told the child in Russian, ‘Mikhail is a good man. He made it possible for you to be set free.’

Nash saw the look of fear lessen and disappear, to be replaced with a sweet, shy smile. Maybe there was hope after all. ‘Lyuba was kidnapped from the streets of Kiev two months ago,’ Zena continued. ‘On her way home after gymnastic class. A van pulled up and the driver asked for directions. As she was telling him another man crept up behind and threw her into the back. He injected her arm and she fell asleep. She awoke in that place,’ Zena gestured behind her. ‘She has been here ever since. Lyuba is eleven years old.’

It was late afternoon when Nash returned to Helmsdale. He left Jackie and Zena to escort Lyuba to the rape suite and to take her statement. Nash told Pearce about the developments and the discovery of the child.

Pearce shook his in head disbelief, ‘Poor kid. It makes me want to …’ He found it impossible to give voice to his fury.

A few moments later Clara walked in. ‘Zena phoned; she
promised
to stay with Lyuba tonight. The police surgeon’s going to
check her. There’s a problem with counselling, though. None of our counsellors speaks Russian, so Zena will do the translation. I’ve promised I’d help when I’m free. That’s all we can do until some decision’s made about her returning home. Zena’s spoken to Lyuba’s parents and the police in Kiev. She didn’t tell them
everything
, just that the child was safe and well. They were overjoyed, as you’d expect. One good thing, if you can call it that; Lyuba told them it was only Butler who touched her. She hadn’t been hired out like the rest.’

‘I suppose that was to come,’ Nash said.

Nash took the confessions into a meeting with Tom Pratt, the Chief Constable and Zena plus his own team. He handed out copies of the three statements together with those of Vatovec and the pilot. ‘That’s the lot. All we have to do is follow the trail of Wardle’s contacts as we retrieve them from his computer. It’s already shown us names and addresses throughout Britain and the Continent. We should be able to roll up the entire network.’

The Chief Constable beamed with pleasure. ‘Well done,
everybody
. That sounds like game, set and match.’

Nash reached his flat in a somewhat deflated state of mind. He’d been working on adrenalin for so long that now he felt
immeasurably
tired. He checked with the hospital on Stella’s condition, to be told there was no change. Now all he wanted was sleep, but first he had a call from the leader of the team enquiring into the death of DS Thomas. Nash confirmed he’d be available for interview the following day.

He’d just put the phone down when the doorbell rang. He muttered something vaguely impolite and went to answer it. Zena was standing on the doorstep, a bottle of champagne in her hand. ‘I’ve come to say goodbye. I fly to St Petersburg tomorrow. I’ll start mopping up the Russian end of this operation. For me, this is only one battle in the war. I was asked to deliver you this.’ She held up the bottle. ‘I have a message. It is from Sergei and Anna Svetlov. They asked me to say that it’s in gratitude for recovering Katya’s body. Now they can take her home, bury her and mourn her. This is something for you to remember them by.’

‘Come on in. There’s far too much for me to drink.’

Nash went into the kitchen and put the bottle in the freezer to chill. When he returned to the sitting room Zena had removed her coat. Nash stopped in his tracks. Zena was wearing nothing but a smile. ‘I also wanted to give you something to remember.’

‘From the information we got out of Wardle’s computer we’ve already secured the release of five more youngsters in Britain,’ Nash told Pratt. ‘A further thirteen men are in custody. We’ve sent paperwork to seven countries in Western Europe, plus a shipload
to Zena’s office. There have already been over two hundred arrests.’

‘What else is left to do?’

‘Not much. I delivered the papers to the CPS. One of their men looked through them whilst I was there. I thought he was going to wet himself with excitement. He told me he’d heard that Wardle’s solicitor has approached three top barristers and all three had refused the brief. They pleaded pressure of work, but the word is nobody wants to touch it.’

Pratt smiled, ‘Barristers with principles, now there’s a first. I’ve got news for you. They’ve finished the investigation into Thomas’s death but Armistead’s disciplinary hearing opens tomorrow. They’ve booked a hotel in Cheshire, close to Manchester airport. You’re to report there tomorrow. You’ll be needed for a couple of days. Here are the details.’ He passed Nash a fax.

Nash stuffed the paper in his coat pocket.

Back in Helmsdale, he called Clara into his office. ‘I’m going away for a couple of days. It’s that disciplinary hearing. If you need me urgently I can be contacted at …’ He rummaged in his pocket and unfolded the fax. He gave a low whistle of surprise.

‘What is it?’

‘Talk about coincidence. The hotel I’m booked into. Lauren works there.’

‘Lauren? The girl who used to be receptionist at The Square and Compass? The one you were sha … I mean seeing.’

‘Shagging, was what you were going to say? Yes is the answer to both questions.’

Nash gave evidence the following afternoon but was asked to stay the night in case the enquiry needed further information. His
testimony
centred on the bugging of his office and the pilfered phone records. He made it clear throughout that he considered both acts to be the work of Armistead and Thomas alone. That there was nothing to suggest DCI Fleming had been involved or had prior knowledge of the irregular conduct.

He decided to dine in his room. It had not been pleasant
testifying
against a fellow officer, despite his loathing for Armistead. Added to that, there were over a dozen other officers in the hotel.
Events at Helmsdale had hit the headlines; the grapevine had done the rest. Nash was well on the way to celebrity status, which was something he didn’t particularly relish.

About 9 p.m. there was a knock on his door. ‘Room service.’ The trolley was set out with his order.

He stood aside to let the woman wheel it in. She pushed the trolley to the middle of the room and turned to face him. She looked at him with amusement and something more. ‘Where would you like it, sir?’

‘Lauren! I wondered if I might see you. I wasn’t sure whether you still worked here.’

‘There was I thinking you’d arranged the whole thing just so we could get together. When I saw your name on the reservation sheet I couldn’t resist the temptation to surprise you.’

‘You certainly did that. I haven’t heard from you since you left Helmsdale.’

‘I haven’t had much time with all the training and I’ve had a lot to worry about. My father died last month and mother’s taken it hard.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What I need is something to cheer me up.’ Lauren walked up to him and put her hands on his shoulders. He caught a whiff of her scent, remembered the light fragrance. His pulse began to race. ‘And I think you’ve got the very thing,’ she continued. One hand slipped from his shoulder and reached towards his groin. ‘I thought so,’ she whispered.

He’d removed her blouse and skirt when there was another knock at the door. He zipped up his trousers and padded across the room. ‘Whoever it is, send them away. Tell them you’re doing something important. Tell them you’re doing me.’

From the doorway Jackie Fleming’s gaze went straight past him to the sofa. She lowered the champagne bottle. Her face flushed with anger. ‘I was going to suggest we celebrate but I see you have company. Of a sort.’

Nash stared after her as she flounced down the corridor.

‘Mike?’

He turned. Lauren was standing in the bedroom doorway. ‘I’m coming,’ he told her.

‘Oh I hope not,’ Lauren laughed. ‘At least, not yet.’

The following lunchtime, Clara was alone in the CID suite when Nash returned. She looked up as he walked in. She looked distraught. Her eyes were red with crying. ‘Clara! What’s wrong?’

‘Mike, I’m sorry. I can’t … I had a phone call … I don’t know how …’ Clara gulped and took a deep breath. ‘There was a phone call this morning. I’m so sorry, Mike. Stella died last night.’ 

Christmas was approaching when Nash received an envelope bearing a Russian stamp. The letter expressed the gratitude of the Russian government. It took Nash a few seconds to decipher the signature of the President. He read it before placing it in a drawer. Somehow it all seemed meaningless.

A few days later he received another envelope with a similar stamp. It contained a Christmas card. He studied it in silence. Clara had entered the room. ‘What is it, Mike?’

He passed the card to her. Instead of a traditional Christmas scene, it depicted a smiling family group, consisting of a handsome middle-aged man, an attractive woman and a pretty teenager with the joy of life blazing from her eyes. The signatures were Sergei, Anna and Milla. ‘About the only Christmas present I could have wished for.’