The Killing Year (The Craig Crime Series Book 17) Read online

  “Well…I might… I mean she might have inferred that…”

  “What?”

  John could feel the PVC doors against his back now, one more step and he would be free. Time to take the risk.

  His next words came blurting out.

  “THAT YOU WERE A WIMP WHO WAS SCARED OF WOMEN!”

  He was through the doors before the words had penetrated the scientist’s brain, and behind his desk when the fact that his office wasn’t lockable had penetrated his.

  ****

  Cultra, County Down. 3.30 p.m.

  Kyle Spence’s day wasn’t turning out as badly as he’d expected. His assumption that no-one could ever compare with Evie Collier, bolstered by her description of the first Mrs Collier as ‘the witch’, had been proved pleasantly wrong, but then the unreliability of people when describing their predecessors in the bedroom was something that he should have remembered from his days on the dating battlefield.

  As Lucinda Collier had approached her half-glass front door, her hazy outline telling him only that she wore black, he’d pictured a matronly, comfortably shaped woman in her forties, Anno Domini preventing her from competing with her successor’s looks. But as the door had opened inwards the ex-spook had had to stop himself gasping, as a petite, feminine-featured, red-head had appeared in front of him, knocking the twenty-something second Mrs Collier into a cocked hat. Old Jason had had excellent taste.

  He’d tried hard not to gawp, reminding himself where he was, the hint from the woman’s head to toe black saying that she’d cared much more about Jason Collier than his earlier interviewee had. He’d followed her politely through the hallway and into a bright sitting room, almost hypnotised by her swaying walk; barely registering the three cats along the way except to wonder if he could cope with living with them.

  Finally, when the coffee had been offered and accepted and the cups and saucers teetered and then neatly placed to one side, the DI had opened his notebook and got to the reason that he was there.

  “Mrs Collier-”

  She halted him with a delicately raised hand. “Lucinda, please.”

  “Lucinda. You were married to a Mister Jason Collier from nineteen-ninety until two thousand and nine.”

  She gave him a pained look. “We’re still married in the eyes of God.”

  Ah. Kyle swallowed hard; he wasn’t a religious man but strangely he admired those who were, in the same sort of way that smokers admire non-smokers, with a sort of uncomprehending awe and a wish that they too could exercise some self-control, although never enough to actually do it.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I was referring purely to the legal side of marriage.”

  She smiled in a bid to ease his apparent discomfort, and the flash of her perfect white teeth made him feel strangely weak. If the widow had known Kyle she would have realised that his discomfort came not from sympathy but from lechery; concern for other people’s feelings ranked very far down his list.

  “I understand, and in that sense you’re correct. We divorced legally eight years ago. Jason wished to remarry.”

  Her stifled sneer was a considerably more ladylike comment on a competitor than Evie Collier’s ‘witch’ had been.

  “Can I ask if you were still in touch with Mister Collier?”

  She gave a slow smile. “Every day until he died.”

  Young Evie hadn’t known that.

  “Then you’d known him for over twenty years when he died.”

  She nodded.

  “Almost thirty actually. We met when we were very young.”

  “You must have known him very well.”

  Another nod, this time with a nostalgic look.

  “I was sixteen when we met, and Jason was nineteen. We married as soon as I was eighteen.”

  Kyle suddenly realised that there’d been no mention of children in Collier’s history. He swallowed hard and then asked. Lucinda Collier seemed surprised that he didn’t know.

  “We have two sons; Julian who’s twenty and Tigh, eighteen.”

  She glanced towards some photographs that Kyle hadn’t noticed before, of a husband, wife and two kids. The Colliers en famille in happier days.

  “They’re both at university in Scotland. Jason was a doting father, and as soon as his body is released they’ll come home for the funeral.” She moved to the edge of her seat and gazed at Kyle imploringly. “Do you know when that will be? We’d like to give him a decent burial.”

  He shook his head in a show of understanding, already formulating his next question.

  “Mrs Collier, I need to ask you some questions about your husband, and I’m sorry but they aren’t pleasant.”

  She nodded him on, shaking her head emphatically at his questions about drugs, gambling, prostitutes, financial irregularities and domestic violence, and in fact almost smiling when he approached the end of his list.

  “Jason wouldn’t have done any of those things. He was basically a nice man.”

  Quite some accolade from a jilted ex-wife. Kyle thought hard before he asked his final question, the only one left that was relevant to the case.

  “I need to ask something specifically. It’s about your husband’s drinking habits.”

  The widow’s immediately rolling eyes said that alcohol had been a bone of contention between the couple, so Kyle forged on, more certain of his ground.

  “I’ve been told…” Mentioning no names. “That certainly in the past few years, his alcohol consumption had been quite high.”

  Lucinda Collier sighed heavily. “Not just in the past few years, I’m afraid. Jason had always been a heavy drinker, although he would never have admitted to having a problem.”

  She smiled wistfully. “We used to entertain a lot in the early days, and he was always the life and soul. Making sure no-one’s glass was ever empty, including his own-”

  The DI interrupted her reminiscences. “Was it ever a problem between you?”

  She seemed surprised. “Between us? Goodness no. I don’t drink a great deal…”

  Strangely Kyle didn’t deduct any points from her for that.

  “But I didn’t mind Jason’s drinking. He was a happy drinker, never nasty.” Suddenly her face darkened. “Except for when we had the trouble. I suppose, looking back, I never really forgave him for it, especially not when we were planning a family of our own-”

  Kyle’s imagination was working overtime; Jason Collier had obviously done something to a child when he was drinking, something so bad that it had eventually destroyed his marriage. He resisted speculating about what it was and cut his hostess off.

  “What?”

  She seemed confused by the question.

  “Your husband did something to a child. What was it? Did he molest someone when he was drunk, did he-”

  Her howl of indignation brought the DI up short.

  “JASON WASN’T A PAEDOPHILE! How dare you even suggest that?”

  Kyle spluttered in self-defence. “But you said, how could he? And-”

  She gawped at him. “It was a car accident! Jason got drunk and knocked over a little girl!”

  She stopped speaking for a moment, and when she restarted it was in a subdued voice and with her eyes closed, as if she was trying to shut out the horror of what came next.

  “We were having a party for my twentieth birthday, in January nineteen-ninety-two. We ran out of wine, but I told Jason it didn’t matter, everyone was happy to drink other things.” She shook her head and Kyle could feel her shame as she continued. “But Jason insisted. He said he was just running down to the off-licence and he would be back in a little while. We lived further along the coast back then and it was only two streets away, so I assumed that he was walking. It was a lovely night.”

  Tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

  “But he didn’t, he took the car. He drove a sports car back then and he loved the stupid thing.” She swallowed hard. “He said the girl ran out into the road before he could st
op. Apparently, she’d been looking for her cat and had left the house without her parents noticing.”

  Her eyes shot open. “Jason was a good driver, he really was, but it was a narrow street and the street lights were out. If he’d seen her he would have stopped in time, he wasn’t drunk, but she ran between the cars and…”

  The DI finished her sentence for her. “Not drunk but still over the limit. I take it he was charged.”

  She nodded sadly. “Death by careless driving.”

  Kyle didn’t hide his surprise. “Careless? But he’d been drinking. That’s normally dangerous driving and earns a hefty sentence. How long did he get?”

  “He was sentenced to two years. They reduced it to careless because the girl ran out between the cars. The mitigation was lack of parental supervision.”

  Collier wouldn’t have got off so lightly now.

  “How long did he serve?”

  “Twelve months in prison and the rest on probation. I loved him with all my heart, but it was far too little.” She shook her head. “That poor family are still serving life. That beautiful little girl.”

  Kyle rose to his feet, closing his notebook. His head was full of questions, the main one being how come Collier’s conviction hadn’t been in his file? Someone’s head would roll over that, but as long as it wasn’t his he didn’t care.

  There were a lot more questions to ask Lucinda Collier, but right now he needed to get back to the ranch. He had a funny feeling that he’d just made a breakthrough in their case.

  ****

  High Street Station.

  Dan Torrance gazed at his surroundings with a sense of wonder; it was the first time he’d ever been sober when he’d been in a cell. He scanned the plain magnolia painted walls and the flat, narrow bed that he was sitting on, the spy hole and food hatch in the heavy steel door, lying wide open to tell him he wasn’t a prisoner this time, or perhaps that particular piece of information was for everyone else. But the thing that really caught his eye lay on the ground; not the navy polyurethane flooring that had seen God only knew what bodily fluids sprayed across it, but the clear plastic sheet that lay above it, between the floor and his feet.

  He moved his right foot, gingerly at first and then in a series of decisive taps, to listen to the crackling squelch of the material beneath it, and then, with the dizzy enthusiasm of a five-year-old, he jumped up and hopped across it as if he was playing a game. He stopped himself suddenly, wondering why he was doing it and retaking his seat with a thud, his years of counselling-taught self-awareness telling him that the mental impact of his kidnapping might just be starting to hit home.

  Craig turned away from the screen on which he’d been watching the performance, beckoning Jack Harris across.

  “He’ll need to see a counsellor, Jack. What he’s been through is starting to get to him.”

  Liam snorted unsympathetically. “He’s lost the plot you mean! Hopping around like some rabbit.”

  “Do I need to send you on another sensitivity course, Liam?”

  It made the DCI zip his mouth shut; a week of some cardigan-wearing tofu muncher telling him off for his ‘Neanderthal’ ways, was something that he didn’t need to experience twice.

  Craig slid off the stool behind the custody desk and signalled Jack to take them to an interview room, where both detectives sat patiently behind the table while they waited for their victim to appear. When the door opened and the sergeant showed Dan Torrance in, Craig rose immediately to shake the man’s hand.

  “Please take a seat, Mister Torrance. Jack, any chance of three cups of tea?”

  He didn’t hear the muttered response which was probably just as well. They would get their tea, but only after Jack had passed the plastic sheeting on to forensics to collect any trace evidence and tidied up his now empty cell.

  Craig nodded at the tape machine. “Do you mind? It will stop us having to repeat the interview.”

  The sponsor nodded absentmindedly, busy taking in his new surroundings. They were a slight step up in luxury from his cell, but the same interior designer had clearly got at them both.

  “Right, Mister Torrance. My name is Detective Chief Superintendent Craig, and this is Detective Chief Inspector Cullen-”

  “Why so senior?”

  Liam knew what he meant instantly. “You mean why does a missing person warrant our ranks?”

  Torrance nodded. He hadn’t told anyone that he’d been kidnapped yet, and for a straightforward assault or missing adult case their seniority seemed odd.

  Craig answered the question. “Because it’s our guess that you weren’t missing, Mister Torrance, you were kidnapped.”

  The assertion made the sponsor frown. “What makes you say that?”

  Craig raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that you weren’t kidnapped?”

  “No. I mean yes, I was, but how could you possibly have known?”

  Just then the door opened, and Jack appeared carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. Liam seized a handful gratefully.

  “God bless you, man. I’m starving.”

  Craig rolled his eyes. “He had lunch an hour ago.”

  When the refreshments were distributed and Jack was ensconced in his viewing room, Craig saw that their guest had become more relaxed, so he tried a slightly different tack.

  “Tell us where you’ve been since yesterday, Mister Torrance.”

  The sponsor responded instantly to the more definite approach and it made Craig wonder if he’d ever been under arrest. It didn’t matter except that it might throw some light on their case. He decided to ask the arrest question later as Torrance’s story had started to spill out. After five minutes during which they were told all about the texts he’d received, his assault and abduction, and him waking up in the countryside paralysed, Craig stopped him, raising a hand.

  “Did you ever see your attacker’s face?”

  Torrance shook his head. “No, but I heard his voice and I can describe that and his accent, he didn’t disguise it the last time. Plus, I can describe his height and build. Unfortunately, there was nothing much that stood out. He was just a hefty middle-aged man from somewhere in Belfast.” He paused for a moment before restarting. “He knew my name, and that I was a sponsor-”

  Liam cut in. “What sort of a sponsor?”

  “Alcoholics Anonymous. I’ve been sober for fifteen years, so I’m given other people to help.”

  It was the right moment for Craig to ask his question. “I take it that you’ve been arrested for being drunk and disorderly a few times?”

  Torrance looked confused. “Yes, four, but how did you know?”

  “You responded better to an order from the police than a request.”

  The sponsor gave a grudging smile. “Drinkers sometimes have skewed logic. Yeh, I was lifted but never charged.”

  It was Craig’s turn to smile. “Good for you. OK, so, back to your attacker. You said he was hefty, did you mean fat?”

  Torrance shook his head quickly. “No, sorry, I mean he was bulky, strong. A weight trainer maybe. You know the type.”

  “OK. And he thought you were still paralysed when he left. To do what?”

  Torrance’s expression was grim. “To dispose of someone else. He told me straight out.” His voice accelerated in what Craig should have seen was a warning that he was about to blow. “He was going to finish them off and then come back and do the same to me. Although when he did come back again later, just for about a minute, he just made sure I was still unconscious then said that he was going to ‘check in on his life’ and he’d be back.”

  Without warning his fist came down hard on the table, rattling the cups and sending his own flying across the room. His next words were a roar. “THAT FUCKING BASTARD TOLD ME STRAIGHT OUT THAT HE WAS GOING TO KILL ME!”

  As Liam jumped to his feet to control the man Craig waved him back down, leaning forward across the table and dropping his voice soothingly.

  “You’re right to be angry, Mister T
orrance, in fact it’s healthy, but use it constructively and help us to find this bastard.” Then he added what he’d deliberately withheld. “You aren’t the first person that he’s done this to.”

  Torrance focused instantly. “More than one other?”

  Craig nodded. “Eleven that we know of, plus you and whoever else he was referring to would have made thirteen, all in the space of a year. But that doesn’t go outside this room, agreed?”

  Torrance nodded.

  Craig knew he’d taken a risk telling him, but he reckoned that someone who’d been through what Torrance had in life would appreciate the benefits of confidentiality.

  The detective sat back in his chair.

  “OK, I want you to give Liam here a detailed description of your attacker and location, anything that you can remember. When you’ve finished, I want you to see a counsellor. The last thing you need is for this to add to whatever demons you’ve already dealt with.”

  As the sponsor nodded grudgingly, Craig made to leave. He was prevented by Torrance suddenly gripping his arm.

  “Wait. He told me something else that might be important. He said, when would we get it through our thick heads what we weren’t important? That there were bigger, bigger bloody things at stake. He shouted it at me.”

  Craig stared at him intently. “Did you ask him what he meant?”

  Torrance nodded. “He said it was about justice and it was nearly done, so I pushed him on it.”

  Liam gave a grudging smile. This guy was brave; kidnapped, paralysed and burnt and yet he’d still had the balls to push his captor.

  “I said if this wasn’t about something that we’d done to him, what right did he have to avenge it? It pissed him off and he left.”

  Craig knew exactly what that meant, and it wasn’t good news. They were dealing with a murderer on a mission, and he wouldn’t stop until it was complete.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Belfast Chronicle, St Anne’s Square. The Cathedral Quarter.

  There was no easy way to go about it, well, no way that wouldn’t seem crass. Maggie pictured herself travelling up in the C.C.U.’s lift, just as she’d done so many times before to see Davy since that day in twenty-twelve when they’d first met; her an annoying reporter in search of a headline and him the shy, but not half as shy as everyone thought, crime analyst.