Depth of Despair, page 23
He put the phone down and looked round. He grinned. ‘It’s not my birthday for several months,’ he told them. ‘But I’ve just been given the best possible present.’
Nash explained what he’d been told. ‘I vote we act straightaway. We’ll talk to Butler. It’s just a question of who to take in to that interview.’
‘Who do you suggest?’
‘Clara and Zena, I think,’ Nash replied.
‘I’ll go along with that,’ Pratt agreed.
As the meeting broke up, Fleming stopped Nash. ‘Have you heard about Armistead?’
Nash shook his head. ‘He’s been suspended. I heard from the office an hour ago. An ACC has been drafted in to handle Armistead’s work on a temporary basis. An internal enquiry team will be put together over the next few days. They’ll want to interview everyone involved,’ she took a deep breath. ‘Apparently I was scheduled for suspension but the acting chief had a word with Tom Pratt and he blocked it.’
Butler was accompanied by his solicitor, a thin-faced, middle-aged man with a morose expression. It was the lawyer who took control of the start of the interview. He leaned forward and spoke to Nash, ignoring both women. Throughout the lawyer’s speech his client avoided eye contact with everyone by staring down at his hands, which were clasped nervously in his lap.
‘My client wishes me to place on record,’ the lawyer began, ‘that he admits having conducted organ removal and transplant operations in contravention of government regulations. He wishes to assure everyone that the operations were his only involvement. Moreover, my client will admit that the reason for his involvement was because he was blackmailed over some alleged minor misdemeanour supposedly committed when he was in Her Majesty’s Forces. He wishes to add that his fear of the man Hill, who he knows to be extremely violent, was also responsible for his agreement to conduct the operations.
‘My client has no knowledge of the origins of the donors, nor of the circumstances surrounding their decease. He’s prepared to answer questions relating to the operations but will categorically refuse to comment on any other subject.’
The solicitor leaned back and waited for Nash to begin, no doubt having rehearsed the line they would take with his client.
Nash knew he had to drive a wedge between solicitor and client. ‘I think we’ll start with the video. Zena, as you and Clara have seen this perhaps you wouldn’t mind standing behind the TV. There isn’t much room in here and I want to be sure Mr Butler and his lawyer can see everything.’
Any doubt as to whether Butler knew what was on the film vanished with the first frame. He took one look then his eyes dropped to the table. ‘Watch the TV, Mr Butler,’ Nash instructed.
Butler didn’t want to watch. That was clear. He’d have given anything rather than have to sit in that room. With Nash’s insistence and his solicitor’s ever more curious gaze on him he’d no alternative.
Nash didn’t watch it. He’d seen it once, and once was more than enough. Instead, he concentrated his attention on Butler and his lawyer. As the video ran its course he saw the growing look of revulsion on the solicitor’s face. There was a long and painful silence when the film ended. Nash nodded to Clara, who switched the TV off.
‘That was you in the video, Mr Butler?’ Nash asked the question ever so gently.
Butler didn’t reply. Nash transferred his attention to the lawyer. ‘Some minor misdemeanour,’ he said, sarcasm crackling in his voice. ‘If you class the rape of a child of no more than ten or eleven years old, and the murder of that child and her mother as a minor misdemeanour, I’d be interested to hear what you regard as a serious crime?’
The lawyer shuffled defensively. ‘I had no prior knowledge of the contents of that video,’ he protested weakly. ‘I’d like to consult with my client.’
Nash signalled to Clara, who delivered the interview termination message before switching the recorder off. The detectives filed out.
‘I can’t believe Butler hadn’t told his lawyer about that film,’ Clara said as they waited.
‘Would you? Butler didn’t know we had it. He probably hoped Hill or Wardle had secreted it somewhere safe.’
‘That’s right,’ Zena agreed. ‘When you mentioned the video Butler went as white as a sheet.’
‘He’ll be hearing some fairly unpalatable advice right now.’
Zena realized what Nash was referring to. ‘That’s why you wanted me in the room, for the benefit of the lawyer. He’s probably telling Butler he’s likely to be subject to extradition.’
‘Will you apply for it?’ Clara asked.
‘Not my decision. They will only make such a request if they think it’s likely to be granted. What are the chances, Mikhail?’
‘I’d start preparing the paperwork now. I won’t oppose it, and I can’t imagine anyone else doing so.’
Butler’s solicitor appeared at the door and signalled they were ready. Once the tape was running he told them, ‘I’ve advised my client to answer your questions as truthfully as possible. I warn you, he still maintains he’d no knowledge of anything apart from the transplants. If you intend to ask questions on such subjects, be careful how they’re phrased.’
‘If Mr Butler is prepared to answer our questions truthfully that’s a step in the right direction.’
Zena looked perplexed, and vaguely disappointed. Clara braced herself for the storm that was about to be unleashed. If things had been different Clara might have felt sympathy for Nash’s victim, but remembering what was on the video ruled that out. She smiled reassuringly at Zena.
‘What your solicitor said implies that what we saw on the film was an aberration, an isolated incident, never to be repeated. Is that so?’
‘That’s correct,’ Butler replied, eager now.
‘And you know nothing about the victims,’ Nash saw the lawyer’s head come up like a striking rattlesnake. ‘Sorry, the donors who were brought to your hospital, on to your operating table? Is that also correct?’
‘It is. I knew nothing about them.’ Zena and Clara could see Butler relaxing as he answered each question easily.
‘You’ve no idea where they came from?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘Can you explain how they finished up in those tarns?’
‘No. Hill brought them to the hospital. I removed their organs. Then he collected them and that was it. I’d no idea how he disposed of them.’
‘You didn’t know any of them?’
‘No, I’ve already said that.’
‘You have indeed, Mr Butler. I just wanted to be absolutely certain you’d never seen any of them in your life. That they were completely unknown to you. Can you give me such an assurance?’
‘I can. I’d never seen or known any of them before.’
‘My client has answered that question more than once, Superintendent,’ the solicitor frowned. ‘I think you should move on.’
‘I’ve a problem with that, to be fair,’ Nash scratched his chin reflectively. ‘I agree your client has answered the question several times, but a few minutes ago you told me he’d agreed to answer truthfully.’
Nash turned back to Butler. ‘So, I’m going to ask you one last time, Mr Butler, did you know or had you met any of those victims before they appeared on your operating table?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Butler said flatly.
Nash’s tone reverted to conversational. ‘Tell me something, Mr Butler, do you know what DNA is?’
‘Of course,’ Butler’s confidence had grown so rapidly he could manage some level of scorn. ‘I’m a surgeon. DNA is part of my daily life.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot,’ Nash was almost humble. ‘Please forgive me for asking but I’m a layman and these complicated medical terms baffle me. Let me ask you this, Mr Butler. Is it possible to determine the parentage of a child from that child’s bones?’
‘Naturally,’ Butler said. ‘That’s easy to do.’
‘Even from an unborn child, a foetus say?’
‘Still perfectly possible.’
‘That’s most interesting, Mr Butler. Thank you for your guidance.’ Butler bowed his head gracefully. Nash stood up as if to leave. Then, almost as an afterthought he turned and placed his hands against the edges of the table. He leaned forward until his face was only inches from Butler’s and stared remorselessly into the surgeon’s eyes.
‘One more question, Mr Butler, bearing in mind that you’ve just informed us not once but several times that all the victims were completely unknown to you. Can you explain how the DNA extracted from a foetal bone removed from one of the corpses indicates that you were the father of the child the victim was carrying?’
Butler began to crumble. Throughout Nash’s verbal onslaught, Butler’s solicitor sat in uncomfortable silence, aware that he should be raising objections but with little enthusiasm for such an intervention.
‘You’ve lied all the way through. First you lied about being a rapist and a murderer. Then you lied by saying your involvement was limited to the organ removals. Next you lied about not knowing how the victims died. You’re a surgeon, Butler. You’d have to know. You’d have to test them to ensure they weren’t carrying any infection that would have rendered their organs unusable; or should I say unsaleable? You’d have to keep them on life support whilst you carried out the extractions. So all that business about not knowing how they died was another lie.
‘Then there was your last lie. The biggest and worst lie. You lied about knowing the identity of any of the victims. You lied about having met any of them, when all along one of them was carrying your child. Did you know the girl was pregnant? Don’t answer; it’ll probably be another lie.
‘You’ve portrayed yourself as an upright citizen, a distinguished surgeon, the owner of a prestigious clinic, but that was all a sham. Your whole life is a lie from start to finish, isn’t it, Butler? I intend to see those lies exposed. I intend to have your whole façade torn down and expose you for the world to see the putrid, stinking, rottenness within. Your career is over. The distinguished surgeon is a thing of the past. Where you’re going you won’t even be able to cut your fingernails unsupervised.’ Nash paused and stood looking down at the wreck sitting before him.
‘Tell me something, Butler, do you like food? You look like a man who enjoys wining and dining. People imprisoned for offences such as yours are protected from other inmates. Unfortunately, that protection doesn’t extend to the kitchen. You’ll be in for some interesting meals, very interesting I can tell you. They prepare special menus for the likes of you. The prisoners in charge of the cooking take great delight in it, I’m told. Sometimes they piss on your food, sometimes they wank into it. They vary that with other ingredients, like shit, or powdered glass.
‘Prisons are fairly secure but we all know security can’t be guaranteed. Mistakes happen. They tend to happen when prison officers with young families are on duty. Most of the mistakes are put down to carelessness. The mistake gets a fair amount of publicity, in the tabloids particularly. Usually the headline reads something like sex pervert knifed. People read it. Law abiding people who wouldn’t wish harm on anyone. They read it and think, “Oh good. He’s got what he deserves.”
‘These mistakes are rare but they do happen and sooner or later I reckon one will happen to you. They’ll take their eyes off you and next thing you know you’re in the prison hospital with a knife in your gut. You won’t be able to operate on yourself either. You’ll have to rely on some underpaid and overworked medic. I doubt you’ll get much sympathy from him.
‘Face it Butler. Your life is in ruins. You’re as good as dead already. What’s the term convicts use in America when a condemned man is on his way to the gas chamber? “Dead man walking”, that’s what they say. That’s what you are, Butler. You’re a dead man walking. The only difference is your death will be long, slow and, I hope, painful. So how about breaking the habit of a lifetime and telling the truth?’
There was a long silence after Nash finished. He stared at Butler, his expression a pitiless glare. Zena looked at Nash and shuddered. All trace of the gentle compassionate nature that had marked his dealings with Milla, the tenderness that had impressed Zena, had vanished as if it never existed.
Eventually, the lawyer felt the need to break the silence which had become charged and oppressive. He looked at Butler, who was staring at the floor, at his hands, at the table, anything to avoid Nash’s gaze. ‘I have to advise you, Butler, to cooperate fully and answer Superintendent Nash’s questions truthfully,’ he told his client.
Even his solicitor had dropped the prefix ‘Mister’. It was a measure of how far the surgeon had fallen. In the space of the interview he’d ceased to attract the slightest particle of respect. They might as well have issued him with a prison number already.
Nash sat down again, leaning back on his chair. ‘Well?’ The question was delivered like a whiplash.
Butler flinched, cleared his throat and licked his lips. When he spoke his voice was barely above a whisper. Even in the confines of the small room his listeners had to strain to catch what he said. ‘I’ll tell you all I know. But I don’t know everything. Only the part that involved me.’
‘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.
