Jennifer Gilmartin’s car was found an hour later at Ingliston Park and Ride, a mile or so from the airport.
‘It’s possible she’s taken a taxi into town,’ Jim told Clare and Chris, ‘but we reckon she’s probably taken the tram to the airport. If we’re right, she’ll turn up at a check-in desk before long.’
‘Or car hire,’ Clare said.
‘That too. They’ve all been notified. Name and photo.’
They didn’t have long to wait.
‘She’s checked in for a flight to the Dominican Republic,’ Jim advised. ‘Leaves in an hour. The Edinburgh lads are on their way to pick her up. They’ll call when they have her in custody.
‘Make sure they caution her. We don’t want any slip-ups.’
‘Will do, Clare.’
And suddenly there was nothing to do.
Fergus Bain had been charged with murder, attempted murder and with Clare’s abduction. Edward Collinson had been charged with sexually assaulting Jasmine Greene, with other charges to follow once the statements had come back from the Vice cops. It was likely that Jennifer Gilmartin would be charged with causing children to participate in sexual activity and Clare felt confident that none of them would see the outside of a cell any time soon. There was a lot of paperwork ahead but somehow she felt disinclined to make a start.
‘Think I’ll take Benjy for a walk,’ she said. Chris nodded in response and she lifted her jacket and Benjy’s lead from the coat stand in the corner. The dog, seeing his familiar red lead, leapt off the counter and sat down at her feet, waiting for the lead to be attached.
It was a lovely May afternoon. Mild and sunny with just a bit of a breeze. She headed out of the station and began walking along Tom Morris Drive. Whether by design or accident, she found herself walking up the curiously named Shoolbraids in the direction of Scooniehill Road. She wondered idly if Angela Robb would be at home. She would have to be told about the arrests. Billy Dodds’ Qashqai was parked outside. Clare rang the bell. Angela’s face fell when she saw it was Clare, but then she spotted Benjy and bent to welcome him. Amazing what the sight of a dog could do to people’s moods.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said, stepping back to admit Clare and Benjy.
Billy Dodds was watching Countdown and he pressed the mute button when Clare entered. Benjy leapt up on the settee and Clare tugged at his lead to pull him off.
‘Leave him,’ Angela said. ‘He’s fine. Sit yourself down. Want a coffee?’
Clare shook her head and sat beside Benjy. ‘I won’t keep you. I just wanted you to know that we’ve made some arrests in connection with Andy’s death.’
‘Oh aye?’ Billy responded. Angela said nothing.
‘I’m afraid we can’t give you any details at the moment. They’ll be up in court on Monday and there will be a statement for the press, but I thought you’d like to know before it’s made public.’
‘Thanks. Appreciate it.’
‘And perhaps you could let the family know? Andy’s sister and so on.’
‘Yeah. I’ll tell them.’
‘There’s something else I have to tell you.’
‘Aye?’
‘We believe Andy was targeted, among others, because he was engaged in… sexual activity with minors. Under sixteens, I mean.’
Billy was shaking his head. Angela said nothing.
‘We’ll try to keep the detail to the minimum. For the press, I mean. But it’s bound to come out. It always does.’
Angela found her voice. ‘He always was one for the girls, ye know. But I didn’t think…’
‘I know. It’s hard to fathom,’ Clare said. ‘I’m sorry to bring you such awful news.’
She rose and Benjy leapt off the settee after her. ‘I’ll leave you now. If there’s anything else, I’ll be back in touch.’
Billy showed Clare to the door. ‘I’ll look after her, Inspector. Dinnae worry.’
She smiled and left them to digest the news. She stood outside, trying to work out which way to go. Vicky Gallagher deserved to be told as well, but Clare couldn’t face it. Not after the day she’d had, to say nothing of the events of the previous night. The lack of sleep, the constant buzzing in her ears – it was all catching her up. Angela had shown little emotion but Clare knew Vicky’s reaction would be a whole lot different. She might even send Chris and Sara to break the news.
‘Come on,’ she said to Benjy. ‘Back to the station. We have Jennifer Gilmartin to interview.’
Clare’s phone was ringing as she pulled into the station car park. ‘Just coming,’ she said, jumping out and locking the car. She walked into the station and then she saw Chris’s face.
‘What?’
‘Jennifer. She’s given them the slip. Never went through airport security. She checked in a suitcase but we don’t know where she went after that.’
‘And?’
‘Flight’s gone. The case was taken off the plane when she didn’t board.’
‘Did they open it?’
‘Yeah. Wasn’t even locked. Full of men’s clothes. Looks like we’ve lost her.’
Clare swore under her breath. She saw they were waiting for her to speak. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Get onto the press office. I want her photo on the news, on our Facebook page, alert all railway stations, wanted in connection with serious crimes. No details, mind.’
Chris went off to call the press office and Clare sought out the DCI.
‘Have you any idea where she might have gone, sir?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not that I can think. No family round here that I can recall, and I don’t really know who her friends are.’
‘Can you authorise a trace of her mobile phone?’ Clare asked. ‘Might help us pin down where she’s heading.’
‘You set it up and I’ll authorise it.’
Chris met her at the office door. ‘Press office are on it. What else?’
‘I need her mobile phone tracked. See which masts she’s pinging. The DCI will authorise it.’
‘Okay, Clare. Anything else?’
‘No, do that and I’ll phone Glasgow airport. She might have taken a taxi or even a train.’
Chris put the phone down. ‘Looks like you’re right. She’s picking up all the phone masts along the M8 towards Glasgow airport.’
‘Must be in a taxi,’ Clare surmised. ‘Right, I want plain-clothes officers at the airport. Hanging round the taxi ranks. If she sees uniforms she might tell the driver to carry on. Make sure every check-in desk and security guard has her photo. I don’t want her getting away a second time.’
As Clare had suspected, the phone was tracked to Glasgow airport but, half an hour after she pinged the closest mast there was still no sign of her.
‘So she’s still in or around the airport,’ Clare said. ‘Why haven’t they spotted her?’
‘Must have slipped past our guys,’ Chris said.
‘How the hell?’
‘Clare, it’s easily done. Wait for a bus coming in from the long-stay parking and mingle with the passengers. Engage one of them in conversation as you go through the door.’
‘Yeah, I suppose. Passport Control alerted?’
‘Yeah. Should get her okay this time. They know to delay her at the check-in desk.’
Clare’s brow creased. ‘Thing is, Chris, if she takes a domestic flight…’
‘She doesn’t need a passport. Dammit.’
‘Right. Get back onto the airport and ask them for passenger lists for all domestic flights going out for the rest of today. If that turns up nothing we’ll try tomorrow morning. Let’s hope she’s booked onto one of them.’
It took the airport half an hour to find her.
‘Booked on the five thirty flight to Luton,’ Chris said. ‘And this time she’s gone through security.’
‘Please tell me they’re picking her up?’
‘Should be doing that right now,’ Chris said. ‘Just waiting to hear.’
They sat round the station, waiting anxiously. No one could settle to anything so Clare phoned for a pizza delivery. As the delivery man struggled through the door with half a dozen boxes the phone rang. Chris snatched it up, listened for a few minutes then gave them the thumbs up.
‘Got her?’ Clare asked when he had finished the call.
‘Yup.’
A cheer went up around the room and the pizza man took a bow. Clare handed him her credit card and he produced his card reader. She tapped in her number then checked her watch. ‘I doubt they’ll be here much before half seven,’ she said. ‘Let’s eat and relax for a bit. We’ll need our wits about us when she arrives.’
The atmosphere in the station had lifted. Chris sat, chatting to Sara, doubtless enjoying the fact that Clare had sent the Edinburgh lads home. Clare watched them for a few minutes. Chris was laying the charm on thickly and Sara didn’t seem to mind. She wondered if she was watching the start of something. Benjy had been driven crazy by the aroma of pizza. Clare asked Gillian to go out and buy him some dried dog food while she gathered her thoughts. It was going to be a long night.
She carried the remains of her pizza into one of the interview rooms and closed the door. She’d have to be well prepared for Jennifer Gilmartin’s interview. Clare knew now that she had the DCI’s full backing but she was still oddly nervous about it. Perhaps it was the closeness they had shared in Jennifer’s kitchen. That time when she had said to Clare she doubted they would meet again. Had she been planning to do a runner, even then? Realising what was happening to the five men, she must have known the police would find their way back to her door, eventually. Or was it the text message from Edward Collinson that had tipped her off? It didn’t much matter now but Clare knew she’d have to have her wits about her.
Jennifer Gilmartin arrived at the station shortly after her solicitor. From the set of her jaw, Clare could see that Jennifer had no intention of co-operating. She showed the pair into an interview room and left them to speak for a few minutes. The DCI, she noticed, was keeping well out of the way and she had asked him to keep Benjy in her office.
‘I don’t want any distractions,’ she said, handing over the lead and he agreed. After consulting with Jennifer, the solicitor told Clare her client would exercise her right to silence. Clare nodded at this and began by cautioning Jennifer under the Sexual Offences Act.
Jennifer made no reply, staring at the wall above Clare’s head. Clare went on.
‘I understand you have been involved with children in residential homes,’ she said, ‘and that you’ve taken them on outings. In a minibus.’
Jennifer said nothing.
‘Mrs Gilmartin, we have a witness who will testify that you took ten children out in a minibus each Thursday evening. Initially, these outings were to gyms and swimming pools. Is that correct?’
Jennifer shrugged and began examining her manicured nails. Clare carried on.
‘We have another witness who has given us a signed statement asserting that these outings changed at some point; that, instead of visiting sports centres, you drove the children to Mortaine Castle, near Tayport. Is that correct?’
‘A witness?’ Jennifer said, suddenly, her eyes burning. ‘You mean one of those kids? You’ve dragged me here, all the way from Glasgow airport on the word of some kids from a sink-estate?’ She laughed, and leaned across the table, her face close to Clare’s. ‘Oh Clare – you’ll have to do an awful lot better than that.’
Clare caught a whiff of her perfume. Not one she recognised. She held Jennifer’s gaze. ‘Do you deny it?’
‘Absolutely. If you think for one minute a court would believe the likes of Jasmine Greene…’
‘You admit you know Jasmine, then?’
Jennifer’s sat back in her seat. ‘Of course I know her. And I know what she is. What they all are. Little whores. Do anything for a packet of fags, that lot. Well, whatever they’ve told you, it’s a pack of lies.’
Jennifer’s solicitor laid a hand on her arm and she sat back again.
‘What sort of thing might they do for a packet of fags?’ Clare asked.
Jennifer shrugged.
‘You called them,’ Clare hesitated, ‘little whores.’ She looked directly at Jennifer. ‘Why did you use that term?’
‘What would you call them?’ she snapped.
‘I’d call them children.’
‘That just shows how little you know,’ she said. ‘My father, in case you are unaware, was a high court judge. Saw all sorts. Many a good man brought down by lying, scheming little tarts. Boys and girls. Do you think for a minute I had to force any of these kids? That they didn’t do it willingly?’
Again the solicitor put his hand on Jennifer’s arm but she shrugged it off. Something had snapped within her and she was past reason now.
Clare said, ‘Mrs Gilmartin, what would you say if I told you that the man who murdered your husband had himself been systematically abused as a child? That he lived daily with the physical and psychological consequences of what he had endured? What is your reaction to that?’
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’d say, Clare, that it was a trendy excuse these days. All this bloody Me Too, crap. It’s complete rubbish. Face it. Everyone likes sex. You like it – I like it! If we didn’t, mankind would have died out long ago.’
Clare shook her head. ‘This wasn’t sex. It was abuse. How could you allow your husband – your own husband – to participate in these acts? How could you share your life – share your bed – with a man like that? Dammit, you drove the children there yourself!’
Jennifer laughed. ‘Oh Clare. Don’t be so high-minded. Bruce had his appetites. I had mine.’
‘You had affairs?’
Jennifer sat back and crossed her legs. ‘Of course. Mine happened to be with consenting adults. But Bruce – well his tastes were different, shall we say.’
‘And you didn’t mind? You didn’t mind helping him to abuse minors?’
‘My goodness, Clare. You’ve a lot to learn about men.’
Clare made an effort to control her voice. ‘Why don’t you educate me.’
In a further attempt to quiet his client the solicitor interjected ‘Mrs Gilmartin, I must advise—’
Jennifer’s hand came up to silence him and a smile crossed her face. ‘Clare, It’s like this. Bruce, you know, was a good businessman. He knew about brewing and he knew how to make it pay. That meant we had a nice life.’ She fingered a diamond engagement ring, as if to prove the point. ‘You’ve seen the house. Holidays too. Money for the finer things, you know.’ She brushed a speck of dust from her jacket. ‘We had standing. When we went places. On Bruce’s arm, I was someone.’
‘And?’
‘And – he liked young girls.’ She stopped for a moment, then went on. ‘He was rather stupid about it. There was an incident, you see. In a public lavatory.’ She shook her head.
‘You didn’t think of leaving him?’ Clare asked.
Jennifer looked surprised. ‘Certainly not. I had far too much invested in my marriage. I wasn’t about to throw it all away because Bruce couldn’t keep his hands off a few young girls.’
‘And so?’
Jennifer met Clare’s eyes. ‘And so, I decided to manage it for him.’
Clare stared. ‘Manage it?’
‘Indeed. I knew about the place in Cupar. I started taking the youngsters out on Thursdays. The gym, swimming, bowling sometimes.’
‘A hell of a risk, surely,’ Chris said. ‘What if one of them had told the staff?’
Jennifer laughed. ‘Oh sergeant. Have you forgotten what it’s like to be a teenager? Kids love the idea of sex. Talking about it, boasting about it, even if they’ve no experience. I just casually mentioned STDs one night and that got them talking. Full of it, they were. Once I dangled the idea they didn’t take much persuading. Amazing what they’ll do for a pizza and a few quid.’
Clare shook her head. ‘So, you are saying that you arranged these evenings to satisfy your husband’s appetite for sex with minors? To keep him from being caught elsewhere?’
Jennifer shrugged. ‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘And the other men?’
‘That was Bruce’s idea. It made sense too. They paid. I gave the kids a few quid to keep them quiet and tucked the rest away for a rainy day.’ She smiled again. ‘Win win, really.’
Clare could feel anger rising and she fought to control her voice. ‘And that website – the Playroom?’
‘Oh it’s good, isn’t it? I was so pleased with how it turned out. Amazing what you can learn online.’
Clare could hold back no longer. ‘You’re – despicable. Utterly contemptible.’
Jennifer’s face darkened and she leaned across the table. ‘Well, at least I haven’t shot anyone, Clare!’
Clare started towards her but Chris held her back. ‘She’s not worth it, boss.’
Clare scraped back her chair, her face scarlet. ‘Interview terminated at—’ she glanced at the wall clock, ‘—eight thirty pm.’ She switched off the machine and turned to leave, Chris at her back.
As they reached the door, Jennifer called, ‘I suppose a decent cup of tea’s out of the question? This stuff’s like dishwater.’
‘She’s been charged and she’ll be up in court on Monday, along with the others,’ Clare told the DCI after Jennifer had left the station.
‘How was she?’
Clare’s jaw was clenched. ‘If you’ll pardon me, sir, she’s a fucking psycho. All grace and charm on the surface but she’s organised a paedophile ring to keep her marriage together. To begin with she wasn’t even going to say anything. Then she completely flipped. Went off on a rant about these kids being whores and how the Me Too movement was a lot of crap. It’s the most bizarre interview I’ve ever done.’
‘Think she should see a psychologist?’ the DCI asked.
Clare spread her hands. ‘I’m no expert. But if I was her defence solicitor I’d probably have her examined. She sounded quite unbalanced in there.’
‘I agree,’ Chris said. ‘But I think she’s more than aware of what she’s done. She’s just not sorry.’
The DCI sat back in his seat. ‘You think you know someone…’
Clare didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, she said, ‘We’ll have to go through the charges with a fine-toothed comb. I’d bet both Collinson and Jennifer Gilmartin will hire the best legal teams money can buy.’
The DCI nodded. ‘Any news on Fergus Bain’s accomplice?’
‘Not so far. Connor, Steve and Phil were chasing up all the girls who were at Garthley House at the same time as Fergus, even for a few weeks, but it’s a long job. I’ve sent them home now anyway. Get a fresh start in the morning.’
The DCI looked at Chris. ‘You get off home too, son. I just need a word with the Inspector.’
Chris smiled. ‘Thanks, sir. Just a couple of things to finish up then I’ll get away. See you in the morning, Clare.’
When he had closed the door, the DCI said, ‘You look tired, Clare. Last night catching up with you?’
He had called her Clare. Miracles did happen.
‘I’m okay, sir. Just been a busy few days. And, to be honest, I’m angry with myself. Angry that I didn’t suss Jennifer out when I spoke to her before. I’ve always trusted my instincts but they let me down this time. Maybe I’m losing my touch…’
DCI Gibson shook his head. ‘Clare, she pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. The social worker, me – for God’s sake! I’ve known the woman twenty years and I had no idea.’
‘Suppose. I’m just annoyed with myself.’
‘Stop that now,’ he said. ‘You’ve done a bloody good job here. I admit I had my doubts but you’ve proved me wrong. I’d be happy to work with you any time.’
It really was Miracle Season, Clare thought. ‘Thanks, sir.’
‘Ach, call me Al. Everyone else does. Anyway, you’ve broken the back of this case,’ he went on. ‘And a paedophile ring, to boot. It’s getting late now. I think you should go home and get some sleep. We’ll sort the paperwork out tomorrow, Sunday at worst. And, after Sunday, I’ll be back in Edinburgh. Give you your office back.’
This was possibly the best news she’d heard all day. She headed for the door, stopping only to pick up Benjy’s lead.
‘Night all,’ she called and stepped out into cool May evening. The sun had gone behind clouds and it looked as if there might be rain overnight. She smiled at an elderly woman making her way across the car park as she unlocked her car.
She opened the door for Benjy. He climbed in and onto the passenger seat where he sat looking out of the window. And she very nearly made it. She nearly managed to drive out of the car park and go home for a relaxing evening. But, as she inserted the key and started the engine, the door of the station opened and Chris motioned to her to come back inside.