The Broken Shore Read online

  “OK Andy, what would you like me to do? We’ve nothing on in Belfast that Liam can’t handle, so I’m all yours for a few days.”

  Andy smiled slyly at him and Craig knew that he was about to ask for something more. “Well now. Since you’ve mentioned the shiny new Chief Inspector Cullen, hey, how would you feel about him joining us for a few days?”

  An image of Liam grinning immediately filled Craig’s mind. He would jump at the chance of a trip to the coast, especially if it meant a few nights sleep in a hotel. Liam loved his children dearly but with a toddler and baby under a year, sleep was a luxury that he would pay anything for. Even better if it was on the State.

  “OK, you’re on. Annette can step up if needed. And she may have a new sergeant this week, depending on how persuasive Liam’s managed to be. I’ll give him a call.”

  Two minutes later Liam was ready to rock and roll.

  “Here, should I bring my bucket and spade? I hear Portstewart Strand’s lovely this time of year.”

  “Don’t bother; the sand’s already given us more grief than we need. Did you manage to get hold of Jake McLean?”

  Liam pulled his pen from his mouth and inspected it, peering at it for a moment before popping it back in. Nicky screwed up her nose in distaste and threw a packet of baby-wipes at his desk. He ignored her and talked on.

  “Aye, I did indeed. He didn’t take much persuading, I can tell you that. He seems to like it down here. Said Stranmillis was a bit too quiet for his liking and he fancied some action.”

  “Is D.C.I. Nugent OK with the move?”

  “Right as rain. I promised him a year’s supply of wine gums and he caved right in.”

  He guffawed loudly and Craig pulled the receiver from his ear in pain. No-one could ever have accused Liam of having dulcet tones. He heard Annette and Nicky joining in, in the background and gave them a minute to enjoy the joke. When the laughter subsided he tried again.

  “Seriously, Liam. Did you check with him?”

  Liam gave a heavy sigh at being brought back to earth then spoke in a mock-reverent tone. “Yes, Superintendent, sir. I did, sir. Detective Chief Inspector Nugent said he’s happy to second Sergeant McLean for six months and see how it goes from there. Seems he thinks a stint in murder is good for the soul.”

  “What did he want in return?” Ronnie Nugent never did anything for nothing.

  Liam was silent for a moment then he sighed again. “He wants me to run some workshops for his new recruits. ‘Detecting techniques for the Noughties’ or some other crap like that. I hope you appreciate the sacrifices I make for this team.”

  Craig laughed so loudly at the image of Liam standing in front of a class that Andy motioned him to turn on his speakerphone. Liam heard the echo immediately.

  “Oh aye, now I bet ‘Dungiven Hey’ is listening in! Morning, Andy.”

  “Morning Liam, hey. And that’s D.C.I. Dungiven Hey to you.”

  Craig interrupted.

  “Seriously though, thanks for doing that, Liam. Jake will be a great addition to the team. And look on the bright side.”

  “There is one?”

  “Yes. All those workshops will look great on your CV. Boards love things like that. See you by noon.”

  He cut the line quickly before Liam could reply then glanced at Andy and laughed again, then they set off for the mortuary and a more sombre start to the day.

  ***

  Andy parked outside the single-storey building and they walked across the car-park, neither of them eager to reach their goal. Craig ran his fingers under the over-starched collar of his new shirt, bought in the local shopping centre that morning. He’d left Belfast without packing and he’d nip back when he had time, but for now it would just have to do. Neither of them spoke; just fell into step as they walked, reluctance in every pace.

  They saw the high-end limousine simultaneously, knowing immediately who its passenger had been, and hurried towards the entrance, reluctant to leave John to deal with everything alone. Their progress was halted by a wail that ripped the clear morning air, freezing them both to the core. They listened as it grew, so high and relentless that for a moment nothing moved. Not the uniformed guard standing confused by the car and not the still air that neither of them breathed in. Even the birds seemed to slow and turn, searching for the origin of the sound. They glanced at each other and forgot their reticence, running towards the morgue. To the room that held a dead daughter, and a mother who had just died as well.

  ***

  John sipped at his coffee, gathering his thoughts, then he turned towards Craig with a look that said he was dreading what came next.

  “You don’t need me there to talk to her, Marc.”

  Craig half-smiled ‘yes we do’ as Andy translated their shorthand in his head. John had been chilled by Melanie Trainor’s reaction, more chilled that he liked to admit. In fact, he wouldn’t admit it, hiding behind ‘you don’t need me there’ instead. But he knew why Craig was insisting. None of them had seen a reaction that bad, not in all the years they’d been on the force, more than three score between them. Craig was afraid of how the ACC might react once the questions had to start.

  John gazed at his friend pleadingly, fatigue written all over his face. Craig’s voice cut through the air.

  “I’m not a doctor, John. You are. Have you ever seen someone take it that hard? She might collapse.”

  John shook his head and sighed, knowing that Craig was right. Melanie Trainor might have made it to the top in a world of men but she was here as a mother today. One who had loved her child if her tears were anything to go by. She could collapse, or worse, when they started to talk, and whether his patients were usually dead or not, he was a doctor first of all. He needed to be there.

  He took a deep draught of his coffee and made a face. It was cold. He walked to the kettle in silence and stood in silence until it boiled. Then he put a fresh pot on a tray and they walked into the relatives’ room together, bracing themselves for the pain.

  ***

  “Nicky, here’s a list of everything Annette needs to do while I’m away.”

  Nicky glanced up from her screen then leaned back in her chair and threw Liam a questioning look. He was standing arms-folded in front of her, his newest tie and jacket saying that this was an important day. She couldn’t be sure but she thought he’d actually combed his hair, although it was hard to tell from the sandy fuzz on top of his head.

  “Have you got a mistress or something, Liam? Only the last time you combed your hair was on your wedding day. Danni told me.”

  Liam’s guffaw was so loud they probably heard it on the thirteenth floor. When it stopped he wagged a thick finger in her face.

  “Let’s have a little respect for your acting boss, madam. I’ll have you know I’m off up north to help out on an important case.”

  “So the fact that it involves the ACC has nothing to do with your hair, I suppose?”

  A stifled laugh behind him made Liam turn, just in time to see Davy Walsh, their young analyst, drop down behind his desk. He wagged his finger again.

  “Now there’s a man who could do with a comb. I thought you had the weekend off, Davy?”

  Davy stood-up and wandered over, tossing his black Emo locks back dramatically from his face. He looked like an Armani model and Nicky said so. When he’d first joined the squad eighteen months before he’d been so shy that he’d stuttered relentlessly. Now he teased Liam with the rest of them, his stutter now only occasional, on ‘s’ and ‘w’, and often used to best effect.

  “I could lend you s…some of my hair wax, Liam. It would smooth out that frizz.”

  Liam looked genuinely shocked. “What frizz? I’ll have you know they’re my family curls. I was born with bright red ringlets according to my Mum and this is what’s left.”

  “That’s something to be thankful for, then.”

  Liam threw Nicky a look so pained that they all laughed again.

  “W…what’s the
boss up to in Portstewart, Liam?”

  “Dead girl, found on the beach. Nasty business. Anyway, it’s not your problem. Didn’t you and Maggie have plans for the weekend?”

  “No, just for yesterday. She’s gone to her Mum’s in Scotland for a few days, so I’m going to catch up on my computer games.”

  Nicky leaned in conspiratorially. “Her mother is ACC Trainor. That’s why Liam’s combed his hair.”

  “W…whose mother? Maggie’s?”

  “Keep up, Davy. The victim’s mother is ACC Trainor.”

  “S…seriously? I didn’t think she was married.”

  Nicky smiled at him in a way that said she wanted to pat him on the head. “You sweet old fashioned thing, Davy Walsh. Lots of parents don’t get married nowadays.” She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Although they should. Selfish, thoughtless…”

  Liam interrupted before she launched into a moral lecture. “She’s married to Hugh Trainor, the politician. He’s an MLA with the Energy Party.”

  Davy whistled. “He’s richer than God too. His family own all those pubs up the Lisburn Road.”

  “Then she should work for free.”

  Nicky had her arms folded now and Liam could tell she was winding herself up for a rant. The boss could handle her when she started but he always got flustered and gave in for a quiet life. Time to leave. He walked across the office throwing a wave back over his head.

  “Tell Annette I’ll call her later and be sure to give her that list.”

  Nicky yelled at his back. “I hadn’t finished, Liam Cullen.”

  He kept on walking, saving his riskiest comment for when he reached the exit to the lift.

  “That’s why I’m leaving. I was afraid you never would.”

  He slipped through the glass doors expecting something to hit him, then jumped into the lift and prayed it moved faster than Nicky did.

  ***

  Craig sat opposite Melanie Trainor while Andy stood, almost to attention, by the door. John had hovered for a moment then chosen a spot at the end of the sofa where she sat. It was a challenging situation for all of them, although it shouldn’t have been. She was a victim’s mother first and foremost, and they should treat her that way. Her job didn’t provide a shield from the pain of loss, so why did they have to keep reminding themselves of that?

  Craig stared at her, watching as her hands curled and uncurled as if they were searching for something to hold. They stretched into activity until her loss hit her again and made them limp, then the cycle started again.

  The ACC was a pretty woman, somewhere in her fifties but looking two decades younger. She was small and dark, with large brown eyes that gazed out sadly from her face. Her hair was black and long, how long was hard to tell when it was wrapped in a chignon every day, but she still caught admiring glances wherever she walked. Craig remembered her from years before, always driven and working hard, but not loathe to using her pretty smile to get her way. He remembered her words from back then.

  “Whatever works, Craig. Whatever works.”

  He’d wondered then if she was hard or merely smart. She’d done whatever it had taken to succeed in a man’s world and found her own way of evening-up the scales. Some called her a pioneer, carving the way for the women who came in her wake. Others, manipulative and cold, Machiavellian in the extreme. He didn’t know. His jury was still out. But today she was none of that; today she was simply a woman who’d lost her child.

  The thoughts took less than a minute to race through his mind, a minute in which John watched her like a hawk. He’d never seen him so shaken by carrying out an I.D. but Melanie Trainor’s wails had chilled them all. Finally Craig broke the silence, his voice soft and kind. It reached across the table while his body remained upright, showing respect.

  “Ma’am. Is there anything we can do to help?”

  She raised her head and gazed at him, her eyes dry and her thoughts a million miles away. She didn’t answer for so long he wondered if she’d heard him, then she sighed. It was a deep soft sigh, a breath exhaled so slowly that it lingered, revealing everything and nothing and most of all despair. Her eyes were blank with the shock and he saw John nod, knowing that she wasn’t there. She sighed once more then stood and walked silently past them to the door, not seeing anyone but her daughter as her chauffeured car drove away.

  Chapter Five

  1 p.m.

  Liam picked up a lettuce leaf in disgust then set it down at the side of his plate, taking a bite of burger.

  “I don’t know why they have to ruin a perfectly good burger with bits of grass.”

  “They’re trying to make it healthier.”

  Liam snorted and Craig laughed then cut into his steak. No matter how dark the case was or how depressing the mood, Liam could bring them back to earth. Craig glanced at Andy and John, nodding them on to eat, then started talking while they did.

  “OK. It’s clear we’re going to get nothing from ACC Trainor, at least for today. So let’s concentrate on other things. John, can you chase up the post-mortem results? Davy’s checking to see if anything similar has showed up before.”

  “You mean other than the case in ’83?”

  “Yes.”

  John nodded and turned his attention to his sausage. He was trying to go vegetarian with little success, but today wasn’t the day to beat himself up about it. Craig was still talking.

  “Andy, we need to re-interview anyone major from the case in ’83.”

  “Except ACC Trainor.”

  Craig nodded ruefully. “Except her. Let’s defer that experience for as long as we can.” He turned towards Liam then noticed something. He’d combed his hair!

  “Did you comb your hair, Liam?”

  Three pairs of eyes fixed on Liam’s head and he blushed under their scrutiny.

  “I did not comb my hair. Have you ever known me to comb my hair? Ever?”

  Craig watched as a patina of red covered Liam’s face. Andy joined in.

  “Boyso yes, you have too combed your hair. What did you use, hey? A combine harvester?”

  Craig and John laughed so loudly they nearly choked on their food. Liam stood up indignantly.

  “I’ll have you know I had red curls when I was a boy! Everyone admired them.”

  They laughed for so long that Craig saw a waiter approach. He waved Liam to sit down and forced his face into a serious look.

  “It looks good Liam, and I’m sure the ACC would have appreciated it.”

  “Aye, if she’d ever seen it, hey.”

  After a few more jokey comments they fell silent again. The only sound was four men eating and drinking until they’d finished their meal. As coffee was served, Craig started again.

  “Liam, find out Lissy Trainor’s movements in the last few days. Does she have a boyfriend? Who does she mix with? Who saw her last and where? You know the form. Ask Davy to chase up background when you have something for him to research. And her e-mail and phone accounts.”

  Andy interjected. “You and I can start with the ’83 case, Marc. I’ll get a copy of the file.”

  Craig glanced at his watch. “OK, let’s meet at the hotel at five o’clock for a debrief. I’ll be on my mobile till then. And if Melanie Trainor contacts any of you let me know right away. The sooner we can speak to her, the sooner we can find out why someone might have wanted her daughter dead.”

  ***

  Annette looked around the open plan office and smiled. She was in charge and she liked it. Well, not really in charge, but it was a pleasant illusion until Craig or Liam’s phone call shattered it. She yawned, tired of the file in front of her and strolled over to Nicky’s desk, indicating the percolator and switching it on at her nod. She arranged three cups and saucers as she waited for it to boil. Saucers; how long had it been since they’d used them, except for guests? Mugs had become the default when Liam was around. Nicky smiled in approval and reached into her bottom drawer, withdrawing a packet of special biscuits and arranging them dai
ntily on a plate.

  Davy smiled at the girly ritual. While the cat’s away, the mice will use napkins. He looked up from his horseshoe of computers and shut down the report he was working on, loping over to join them. Just then a fair-haired young man pushed his way quietly through the floor’s double-doors. Annette recognised him immediately and waved, beckoning him over to Nicky’s desk.

  “Hello Jake, you must be psychic, the kettle’s just boiled.”

  The others smiled in greeting then Davy pulled up another chair and Jake McLean joined his new team for Saturday afternoon tea.

  ***

  “It was a nasty case in’83, all right. Veronica Jarvis was beaten and strangled, then buried up to her neck in sand. In exactly the same place as Lissy Trainor.”

  “The similarities are hard to ignore.”

  Andy leaned back against the desk and turned a page in the file. “There are some differences, though.”

  “Such as?”

  “Lissy Trainor wasn’t beaten and she was completely covered in sand, whereas Jarvis’ head was left exposed. Nothing showed of Lissy until the sand got eroded, and her hand was nearest the surface.”

  Craig shook his head. “The Atlantic could have eroded the sand in both cases. I’ll get Davy to check the tides now and in ‘83. But the beating might be significant.”

  “The lack of it you mean.”

  Craig nodded in acknowledgement then frowned. “Beatings were more usual back then, especially in punishment killings.”

  “You mean because Veronica Jarvis was suspected of being an informer she would have been treated worse?”

  “Yes. The paramilitaries weren’t known for their gentle ways. But that’s another thing. The IRA didn’t claim it.”

  Andy shrugged, puzzled. “Maybe because it was a girl? They thought it would make them look bad?”

  Craig smiled at his naiveté. The IRA had killed plenty of women; there was no chivalry in terrorism.

  “They weren’t gentlemen, Andy. They killed women as well. No, Ronni Jarvis might have been beaten but I don’t think the IRA committed her murder, no matter what the records say.”