The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) Read online

  He could picture the men just as Aloysius had described them. Unwashed, unfed converts and faith born men who had lost their way, chained against walls dripping with filthy water and shivering on stone slab floors, their only crime not to conform to the orthodoxy of the medieval church. Liam laughed out loud, not at the caricature it painted but at the knowledge that some older clergymen probably still believed it was the best way.

  He pictured a medieval Guantanamo, minus the orange jumpsuits and sunlit exercise yards. Cell doors creaking open and the men inside being led in flickering darkness to larger rooms where instruments of torture had greeted them with a smile, although not, he guessed, as wide a smile as their torturers’.

  Aloysius had told them of the implements used: Strappado, the Judas Chair and the rack, in a hushed voice that begged them not to repeat his words outside the classroom. Liam tried to imagine a teacher describing such things nowadays; they’d be hauled away screaming by the PC police. But they’d been testosterone rich teenage boys desperate for a thrill and it was testament to the excitement they’d felt that Aloysius’ history and Latin grades were the highest in the school.

  Latin. The key to this case was Latin but he wasn’t yet sure how. He knew the language well; years of schooling had ensured that, so he’d known immediately that the words tattooed on their victims’ bodies were all wrong. ‘Gentum est confessio illa veritate’ wasn’t any Latin that he’d learned, but he was pretty sure he knew a man who could translate.

  He pulled out his mobile and made a call, smiling as he snapped shut the phone. Then he threw his car into a U-turn and headed down the A24 to Crossgar to visit a tall, wild-haired man that he’d thought he would never see again.

  ****

  The Relatives’ Room. Docklands.

  T.J. McDonagh tightened his grip on the mug of tea and sniffed back the end of his tears. Then he thought of his mother and having to tell her that her baby son was dead and they began flowing again. Jake leaned forward to catch his eye.

  “T.J., can we talk about Bobby? I need to ask a few things.”

  The youth sniffed assent and gazed into his still full cup.

  “When did you last see him?

  The big brother answered in a dull voice. “Four weeks ago. He was getting ready for a gap year trip to Spain. He was planning to do Spanish and French at Uni next year.”

  “When was he due to leave?”

  T.J. screwed up his face, remembering. “I think it was the first Wednesday in March.” The fourth.

  “Was he travelling with anyone?”

  The boy shook his head, half smiling. “Bobby liked his own space. Used to say that a companion would hold him back.” He glanced up at Jake with pride in his eyes. “He was an organised kid. Booked his own flights, the Paradores he was staying in, everything.”

  Davy would check everything, but his hunch was that Bobby McDonagh had never made his plane. He changed tack.

  “When did Bobby realise that he was gay?”

  It was a bluff – they still had no proof that he had been. He held his breath as T.J. went to shrug then changed his mind and shook his head.

  “I don’t know for sure when he knew. But…he started asking me questions when he was around fourteen.”

  They had their confirmation. Their second victim had definitely been gay.

  He stared directly at Jake, his voice firm. “And before you ask, no I didn’t give him any details and I definitely didn’t glamourise the life. Mum and Dad would have killed me if I’d influenced him.”

  Jake remembered his own confusion at fourteen. He would have given anything for a brother to talk to but his granddad had been the next best thing.

  “And later? Did he keep asking?”

  T.J. nodded, his dark hair falling across reddened eyes. “All the time.” He hesitated before continuing. “He used to ring me and cry down the phone.” He shook his head sadly, as if he was thinking that he could have done more to help. “That was when he started getting into trouble.”

  Jake’s eyes widened. This was something, he knew it.

  “What sort of trouble?”

  The boy smiled incongruously, as if the trouble was a happy memory now. They all would be eventually.

  “Bobby was always such a fricking Boy Scout; helping Mum and mowing the lawn for Dad. He made me look bad. So when he was first caught nicking from our local shop, I cheered. Finally he wasn’t the blue-eyed boy.” He made a face. “The first time was funny. Dad had a word with the shopkeeper and he let it drop, then Bobby did it again, and again. He got caught every time; he was a really crap thief. The last time he practically danced in front of the shop’s CCTV.”

  Jake interrupted. “Did anyone ask him why he did it?”

  It was blindingly obvious to him that Bobby had been crying out for help, but he wanted to see what his brother knew.

  T.J. shrugged. “He probably wanted the stuff he stole.”

  “I mean why he deliberately tried to get caught.”

  T.J.’s eyes widened, as if the deliberateness had never occurred to him. “He didn’t…did he?”

  Jake nodded. Bobby McDonagh had been desperate for someone to listen to him. He’d been confused about his sexuality and it was his way of acting out.

  “Was he arrested?”

  “Nah. He was only fifteen so the cop took him to see a social worker instead. Dad was ripping mad but at least he didn’t get a record. Anyway, a year later Bobby told me he was gay and the trouble stopped.”

  Something T.J. had said was niggling him but Jake couldn’t give it a name. He’d play back the conversation later, but right now he needed to take him home. As they were readying to leave the door opened and Craig appeared.

  “Hello, Jake. Hello, Mr McDonagh, I’m really very sorry for your loss. Thank you for agreeing to answer some questions.”

  T.J. nodded and Craig beckoned Jake outside.

  “Did he give you anything?”

  “Bobby was definitely gay. The rest I need to check out.”

  “Right. Get a car to take him home.”

  Jake shook his head. “I’d like to do it, sir. His family don’t know yet and they’ll want to view the body.”

  “OK. I just came down to say I’m moving the briefing to nine tomorrow morning. Annette and Nicky have left, Ken and Andy are still with Mr Boraks and Liam’s gone AWOL, following up some hunch.” He glanced back at the room. “Thanks for doing this, but don’t spend all evening, please. Your week has already been hard enough.”

  Chapter Eight

  Craig didn’t know which he was dreading more; talking to Carmen or trying to decide what to do with her. He’d spoken to Annette and Nicky briefly in the departure lounge and got the gist of what the recalcitrant constable had said. He knew that her rudeness stemmed from insecurity, hurt pride and a stubborn streak, but he’d been making allowances for her now for nine months and enough was finally enough. He didn’t care how she treated him but speaking about a bereaved relative the way she had was the final straw.

  As he walked decisively into the squad-room he was shocked to see that no-one but Davy was there; he’d told Andy to ground Carmen until he’d had a word! He was on the point of shrugging off Andy’s neglect as his laissez-faire approach to life when he heard the lift door slide open and Carmen appeared, holding a baguette from the canteen.

  She walked past him and deposited it on her desk saying, by way of explanation. “I thought you’d probably keep me late.”

  As Craig struggled to work out if it was insight or sarcasm she surprised him yet again.

  “Before you say it, I know I’m in big trouble and I know that I probably deserve to be. What I said to Annette was rude and cruel and as soon as the words were out I regretted them. I’ve been bollocking myself ever since, far more brutally than anyone else could.”

  She wished. If it was a tactic to soften him it wouldn’t work. Craig turned on his heel.

  “Join me in my office.”

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p; She thudded down at her desk and shook her head. “Let Davy hear. I don’t care.” She continued as if talking to herself. “The problem is I know it will happen again and that next time a relative might hear.”

  Craig sat down opposite, not softening but curious at the turn the conversation was taking. “Do you know why you do it?” Whatever her reply he’d already decided to call her old boss in Leith once the case was done. Something had to be at the root of her problems and at the moment he felt as if he was working in the dark.

  Carmen went to shake her head again then she stopped and gave a slight nod. “I…I think I’m angry.”

  Craig watched her face, wondering if he was being played and at any moment she would sob and throw herself on his mercy, hoping that his chivalry would make him say ‘there, there’. It probably would have done in the past, but not this time.

  But she didn’t cry, instead she seemed genuinely puzzled. Davy looked up from his computer and waited to see what came next, while Craig barely blinked, knowing that the angry detective had more to say. Her puzzled look changed to realisation.

  “Yes…yes that’s it. I’m angry.” Suddenly her small fist slammed onto the desk. “No, I’m not angry, I’m bloody furious.” She glared at Craig as if he would be the next thing slammed. Her words confirmed it. “In fact I’d like to punch you right now.”

  Craig was relaxed. She couldn’t hurt him, short of using her gun, and he was interested in where this was heading.

  He played devil’s advocate. “Two questions. A, why so you want to punch me? And B, what’s stopping you?”

  She frowned as if confused by his words. “What’s stopping me is the fact that you’re my boss and you could wreck my career.”

  “Not because it’s wrong.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe, although the way I’m feeling I’m not sure that it would be.”

  He raised an eyebrow, half amused.

  “And why…why is because you’re slick.” She gestured at him contemptuously. “With your perfect teeth and nice suits. And you’re so bloody calm all the time. You never get angry! It’s not normal.”

  Craig thought back to the Christmas party and almost laughed. She read his mind and shook her auburn curls.

  “You know what I mean. When you get angry it’s deserved, but you never just let rip because you’ve had a bad day or you’re annoyed.” She glanced around for an audience and found none; at the mention of punches Davy had ducked down to inspect his shoes. “None of you do. I’m the only one here who wants to scream all day. You’re not normal!”

  Craig saw that she was dangerously close to tears then saw her realise it and blink them back. Maybe if she cried she wouldn’t be so angry all the time but he thought better of saying so; tears were probably a feminist issue nowadays even though they didn’t belong to just one sex. Instead he summed up.

  “Constable McGregor, I believe you have serious personal issues that need to be addressed. Until they are I don’t want you anywhere near victims’ relatives.”

  She nodded mutely, dropping her eyes to the floor as he continued. As her hair fell forward curtaining her face it looked like she was revealing her neck for the executioner’s blade.

  “It might surprise you how often other people around here want to shout and punch something, but they don’t because they’ve developed self-control. Boring I know, but necessary at work.” He paused, picturing the times he’d wanted to punch his old boss Terry Harrison and allowing himself a smile, then he straightened up briskly. “Right, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re a bright officer and it’s not in anyone’s interest to ruin your career, so I’m going to offer you a simple choice.”

  Carmen’s eyes lifted as if she’d been granted a stay.

  “You will apologise to Ken, and to Annette and Nicky when they return, and I’m confining you to the office.”

  Her mouth opened; it shut again quickly as Craig narrowed his eyes.

  “Your duties will be paperwork and helping Davy on the IT side.” He ignored Davy’s sudden reappearance and his mime of hanging himself behind her back. “While that’s happening, and it could take months, I want you to undergo in-depth psychological assessment and treatment, not the quick fix we tried before – that obviously didn’t work. Until they sign you off as fit to work in a team and on the streets you won’t, and if there is one more incident or complaint before or after that time I’ll transfer you off this team so fast you won’t have time to pack.” His voice hardened. “Do you understand me? This is absolutely your last chance on this squad.”

  “But what about me liaising with Vice and Gangs on the Boraks case?”

  Craig gritted his teeth, torn between admiring her cheek and telling her not to push it.

  “You’ve forfeited that role because of your behaviour. Someone else will take over.” She glanced away and Craig leaned sideways so that she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “Do you understand me, Constable McGregor? Your very last chance.”

  There were no more words. Just a mute nod of acceptance and a rustling as she packed quickly to leave. Craig walked towards his office, turning just as she reached the double doors.

  “Take the weekend off. I don’t expect to see you before Monday afternoon because you’ll be at psychological services in the morning. Goodnight.”

  With that he entered his office and slumped at his desk, wondering if there was a job out there that didn’t involve dealing with other people’s crap.

  ****

  Crossgar. 8 p.m.

  Roadworks had ensured that by the time Liam reached Crossgar it was after seven and his pie was a fond memory. He’d tossed up between eating and then meeting or doing it in reverse, and eating first won, as it always did. One hour and a large cheese and pepperoni pizza later, courtesy of an eatery that had been a dry cleaners when he’d been a boy, he hit the Derryboy Road praying that he saw no-one that he knew. His sister Mary’s house was only a mile down the road and if she heard that he’d been local and hadn’t dropped in there’d be hell to pay. The thought of his brother-in-law’s slack-jawed conversation replaced his guilt with relief, and a resolution to invite her for a day’s shopping in Belfast sealed the deal.

  As he sat outside the seminary’s imposing gates, waiting for them to open in answer to his buzz, Liam wondered what he would feel when he was inside. The large building wasn’t a school now; just a place of prayer and a retreat for exhausted souls, but it affected him in the same way it had always done. Trepidation, tinged with the knowledge that he’d get in trouble for something he’d done, or more likely hadn’t done; his homework to be precise. But there was no homework today, just a short Latin sentence that rang a bell in his head and a man that his school notebook recorded as having said something similar years before.

  As the high iron gates swung inward and he drove on in first gear he saw a man standing in the road ahead. Even from a distance he could tell that he was a Brother, with his familiar black cassock skimming the ground. Part of Liam was pleased that the man still wore traditional garb. It was unusual; even the nuns nowadays seemed to show their legs and hair. Another part of him shuddered at the memory of cassocks swishing across the floor, far too often followed by the louder swish of a cane.

  As he drew closer the man’s face crystallised and Liam let out a gasp. It was the very man that he’d come to see; Brother Aloysius thirty years on. It was only then Liam realised how young he must have been when he’d taught them; he looked barely older as him, and good living had kept him suspended in time.

  As the detective stopped the car to avoid hitting him, Aloysius McGovern strode forward with his hand held out. He yanked open the driver’s door and stuck his hand in his old pupil’s, pumping it up and down with an iron grip.

  “Young Cullen, as I live and breathe. Let me look at you, lad.”

  Liam exited the car, blushing, and stood ready to be inspected as if he was still a kid.

  “It’s good to see you, Brother Aloysius.”

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nbsp; The Brother grinned, spreading his line-free face wide as he did. The only sign of the intervening years was a light greying at his temples and a small scar on his cheek that Liam knew would have been earned during some kind of sport. Aloysius pumped his hand again.

  “And you, boy. You’ve hardly changed.” He poked Liam in the paunch as he spoke. “Apart from that. Too much good living in the police.” Before Liam could demure and tell him of his hard life, Aloysius gestured at his aging Ford. “Park over there and come on in.”

  Liam was puzzled, the school still lay half a mile ahead, then he noticed Aloysius was heading towards a small detached house. A cottage really; red brick with a slate roof and a smoking stack that said it had an open fire.

  “Home sweet home.” He waved at the school. “Far better than living at ‘the big house’. But you’d know all about that.” He chuckled at the prison reference. “We just use it for conferences and retreats nowadays. The remaining Brothers are dotted all over the grounds.”

  Liam was about to ask why the pupils had stopped coming when the cleric disappeared through the low front door. He parked the car and joined him and two pots of tea and several scones later Aloysius McGovern stared his old pupil directly in the eye.

  “Now, lovely and all as it is to see you, Liam, you didn’t come all this way just for a chat.” He arched an eyebrow wryly. “If you’d wanted one of those you could have dropped in any of the umpteen times you’ve been to see your sister on the farm.”

  Liam swallowed his tea hastily and blustered out a defence, as if he was still the gangly kid who’d forgotten his homework, or the eighteen-year-old caught snogging a local girl behind the gym. The teacher waved a hand, dismissing his guilt.

  “I’m only winding you up, lad. Getting my own back for all those times that you talked in class. Tell me what I can do for you.”