Crossing The Line Read online

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Liam, it is blue but it’s not Viagra. It looks like diazepam. Usually prescribed as a pre-med or for anxiety in short courses as Valium, although given the fact that it killed Smyth this can’t be the proprietary brand.”

  Craig’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Plain old diazepam? That couldn’t have killed a grown man by itself, could it?”

  John shrugged. “I doubt these tablets are unadulterated diazepam, but high enough doses of diazepam can cause sedation and respiratory depression, so that would depend on someone’s medical history and how much of it they took.”

  Liam whistled. “Good old Amazepam! Who’d have thunk it.”

  Amazepam was one of many street terms for the drug, based on its so-called amazing effects. But Craig was busy focusing on another word.

  “Someone’s medical history? You mean you don’t think that’s how Smyth died.”

  The pathologist smiled. “I haven’t seen his medical notes yet, but I told you already that it definitely wasn’t how Derek Smyth died-”

  Liam interrupted. “But you said diazepam could cause respiratory depression-”

  John cut him off. “No.”

  The D.C.I.’s eyes widened. “No? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “Would you prefer, no way?”

  Craig chuckled at his best friend’s unaccustomed cheekiness. John had been a shy child who’d grown into a shy adult, but maturity seemed to be giving him more chutzpah by the day, or maybe it was his newly long hair. Either way Craig decided to take his D.C.I.’s side and chivvied the medic for more.

  “Come on, John, you know that’s not enough. If it wasn’t the diazepam, and I agree with you there, then explain why not. Smyth looked like he was gasping for breath when he died, so what kind of poison could have caused that?”

  The pathologist took his time pouring out another coffee, deciding to wind them up. It was entertainment of a sort and he didn’t get out much nowadays, part of the small price of fatherhood.

  “So… diazepam, which is from a family of drugs called benzodiazepines, as you know…”

  Craig rolled his eyes, knowing this was his revenge for Liam’s earlier crack about medical terminology.

  “…causes relaxation, sedation and even sleep in some individuals, even in low doses, which is why it’s often given as a pre-med to calm people before operations. It can also alter respiration, making breathing slower, which isn’t a danger in a healthy individual. However…”Liam slid down his seat in despair at the lengthy explanation, his legs so long that he knew that as he did he would jolt the pathologist’s chair in a signal to hurry up. John ignored the nudge and continued at the same leisurely pace, aware that as soon as he’d finished they would leave and he was enjoying the chat.

  “...the respiratory disturbance that Mister Smyth suffered and which led to his death by asphyxiation-”

  Craig cut in. “That’s his COD? Asphyxiation?”

  The medic frowned, puzzled. “Yes. Why?”

  “You didn’t say that before. You just said Smyth was poisoned.”

  John gave an exaggerated nod. All part of the ‘important scientist’ show.

  “Ah, yes... I see. Well, poisoning is really just a generic term for the administration of a substance capable of causing illness or death, but the specific end method by which this particular poison caused death was asphyxia. I’m sure I told the governor that earlier so I’m surprised he didn’t pass it on. Smyth was gasping for breath in his last minutes, frantically trying to get air in. Diazepam wouldn’t have killed that way, it would just have slowed his breathing until he’d fallen asleep.”

  Craig could see his deputy losing the will to live, and to be honest he was about to join him, so he held up a hand to halt the pathologist’s academic version of payback.

  “John…great as it is to have your company, we need to go and detect something, because like it says on the badge, we’re detectives, ergo we detect. So, long story short, you’re saying that Derek Smyth’s cause of death was asphyxiation caused not by the diazepam but by another, poisonous, chemical that must also have been in those tabs? Just a yes or no, please.”

  The pathologist folded his arms in a huff. “Yes. Well... maybe.”

  Liam’s sigh was so loud that it filled the room.

  “Why maybe, for God’s sake?”

  “Because although these tablets look like diazepam they might not be at all. They might be made of something else completely, some poison moulded and coloured to look like diazepam.”

  Craig nodded, following his logic.

  “OK, so any ideas what this poison might be?”

  “There are several that can cause asphyxia. I’d need to narrow them down-”

  Liam cut in before another scientific explanation ensued. “And it definitely got into Smyth through his mouth?”

  John sniffed. “Yes, he swallowed it. There was a partially dissolved tablet in his stomach that looks just like one of these. I’d say that either the whole tablet was moulded out of poison to look like an innocent diazepam tab, or someone managed to insert poison inside these diazepam lookalikes somehow. Probably when they made them.”

  Liam was getting even more puzzled. “Made them?”

  “Yes.” The medic shot both men a haughty look. “If you’d been listening you’d have heard me saying that while diazepam is usually prescribed as Valium I doubted this was the proprietary brand. I think you’ll find that these tablets are counterfeits made by someone either here or abroad.”

  As if it wasn’t bad enough that illegal recreational drugs were everywhere now, the UK and Ireland had a serious problem with counterfeit medications, both home-grown and imported. Many were made of materials that bore little resemblance to the official medications they claimed to be, some just harmless duds made from sugar or baking soda to rip people off financially, but others made from substances that were extremely dangerous. The customs forces and police were battling every day to stop the imports but it was a growing problem, and tens of thousands of illegal and unauthorised medicine packages had been seized in a police operation only two months before, involving one hundred and sixteen countries: Operation Pangea XI. The meds had been destined for addresses throughout Northern Ireland, and coincidentally many had contained versions of diazepam.

  Craig inhaled sharply. “Counterfeits? Tell me exactly why you think that.”

  The pathologist warmed to his theme.

  “When I looked under the microscope I could see small air bubbles in the blue shell, and the logo wasn’t right. Also, there was a rough seam running down the sides that hadn’t been smoothed down. Genuine medication would never have been allowed to leave the factory like that.”

  He edged forward at his desk, all of his earlier huff gone. “But my guess is that it won’t be the material on the outside that’s the issue here. I mean, why bother to waste a large quantity of poison making the tablets when a tiny amount could kill just as well? The outer coating may well be some form of benzo, maybe even diazepam itself, but it’s what’s inside the tablet that’s likely to have caused the problem. I think when Des cuts one of them tomorrow he’s going to find a tiny amount of lethal poison.”

  Liam straightened up in his chair, more interested. “That wouldn’t be easy to make.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. Whoever did it had some skill.”

  Craig frowned. A reservoir of poison inside another drug. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to see Derek Smyth dead. He wondered about their motivations a moment and then rose to his feet.

  “John, can you update Des on this discussion and work with him tomorrow to nail this substance down, please.”

  The pathologist joined him on his feet and changed back into his clogs.

  “I can. I’m going to tidy up our victim and move him down to the morgue now, but I’ll give Des a call before I head home.”

  Craig signalled to Liam that they should both be heading home as well. They would hit the gro
und running the next morning, but for now Derek Smyth had cost them both quite enough of their day of rest.

  ****

  The Coordinated Crime Unit (The C.C.U.) Sailortown, Belfast.

  The Murder Squad Offices. Tenth Floor. Monday, 17th December. 9 a.m.

  “Right. Gather round, you lot. We’ve got a case.”

  Liam announced the words in a bass voice that naturally rolled like thunder, removing any need for it to be loud to impact even though it usually was, and Craig watched comfortably as his deputy stood at the front of the squad-room with his arms folded and his legs slightly akimbo, watching the rest of the murder team sternly until they’d abandoned their desks and done as they were bid.

  When their chairs were arranged in a semi-circle the D.C.I. motioned that they were ready for Craig to start, but he shook his head and motioned his deputy to carry on. Liam was good enough to be a D.C.S. now, and even if he refused to take the board exam that would make him one, citing the fact that he already worked all of the hours God sent and he wanted to spend time with his two children while they were still young, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t have him taking charge more often, and he intended to tell him as much later that day.

  Liam looked at his boss curiously. “You don’t want to take this?”

  Craig shook his head. “You saw and heard everything yesterday, so carry on. I’ll chip in as and when.”

  The D.C.I. gave a shrug, but a slight worry crossed his mind. What if Craig was preparing them for his departure? He’d been meeting with the Chief Constable a lot these days, so maybe it was a prelude to him moving squad?

  He didn’t get long to consider the matter because Annette gave him a kick in the ankle.

  “Get on with it, will you, Liam. Some of us have reports to write.”

  Annette Eakin was the team’s detective inspector, its only one since September, when the always troublesome but sometimes very useful ex-Intelligence Officer Kyle Spence had requested a transfer to Gang Crime, something that had surprised all of them and sent Craig’s curiosity sky-high.

  Three months later he still hadn’t got to the bottom of the sudden transfer request, although the fact that Kyle had also put in for the D.C.I. promotion board that was being held in the coming week sponsored by Assistant Chief Constable Christopher Price, a man whose sealed file on a sexual assault had been unearthed during a case of theirs just four months before, seemed much more than a coincidence. If Craig had had a suspicious mind, and he did, he might have wondered whether Kyle had blackmailed Price to get his transfer and his shot at a higher rank. He didn’t know it yet but he was exactly right.

  Liam rubbed his ankle exaggeratedly at the kick for a moment and then did as he was told and got on.

  “OK. In summary, the boss and me were called to a death at Mahon, that’s a men’s high-sec prison in Armagh, yesterday morning. We don’t know exactly when the bloke died yet, but he looked like he’d suffered the agonies of the damned.” He briefly contorted his face into an impression of a gargoyle before carrying on. “He was found when they opened his cell at seven a.m. but he could have been lying there half the night. To be confirmed.”

  It was a good point and Craig made a note to ask John the time of death, something he’d forgotten to do during his lengthy lecture on the blue tabs.

  As Liam continued talking everyone but Davy Walsh failed to notice that Annette had suddenly turned pale and he gazed at her in concern.

  “So, we have to attend prison deaths like you all know, and this one was of a wee scrote called Derek Smyth-”

  A pointed cough from Craig made him backtrack.

  “Aye, well, what I meant to say was that the poor deceased soul was Mister Derek Smyth. God rest him.”

  A glance that said, “Satisfied?” made Craig smile.

  “So, we don’t know much about Smyth yet except the basics; Belfast born and in for breaking and entering and serious assault according to his prison summary. But we all know how accurate those are, so we’ll need his full records pulled.”

  He turned to where the team’s two analysts were slouching in their seats, the junior one, Ash Rahman, who’d been with the squad since twenty-fifteen, engaged in lovingly stroking the smart-pad that seemed permanently welded to his hand, and his boss, Davy, who although they were the same age and had graduated from Queen’s University together in computing, had been with the squad for years.

  “Davy, can you sort that out? There’ll be other things as well.”

  When the lanky analyst didn’t answer immediately Craig looked over at him, and saw that his eyes were fixed on Annette. A questioning glance saw the detective receive a mouthed “Later” in response, then the analyst said, “OK” to Liam and made a note of his request.

  “OK, so the boss had a quick shifty round Smyth’s cell.”

  All eyes turned to Craig, who gave a small wave.

  “And found some stuff behind the grating of a vent high up on the wall. A stash of porn, a bag of blue tabs that are with Des now-”

  Another cough.

  “Sorry, Doctor Marsham.”

  It might have seemed picky but Craig wanted the formalities kept on cases; John and Des weren’t in their hierarchy and they had to be professional or things would go to hell.

  “So he has the tablets now, taking a look at them, and the CSIs have done their thing on the body and the cell. And Doc Winter…”

  He shot Craig a sideways glance but “Doc” seemed to be good enough.

  “…has done the PM and we’ll have the full report on that later today.”

  One of the squad’s two other Chief Inspectors, Andy Angel, roused himself to ask a question. Roused in the sense that he actually looked awake for once; his lethargic manner and his bed-head gelled hairstyle usually making him appear as if he’d been disturbed while taking forty winks.

  He raised a finger to attract Liam’s attention.

  “Yes?”

  “OK, well, two things. Did the cause of death definitely link with the tablets?”

  Craig smiled to himself. All of his D.C.I.s were good but Andy often made the links quickest. Especially where there was a visual component involved, because of his strong artistic streak.

  Liam nodded graciously.

  “I’m extremely pleased that you asked that, Chief Inspector.”

  More eyebrows than Craig’s rose. There was acting professionally and then there was behaving like your dad.

  Liam carried on, oblivious to the audience critique, his formality not surviving long in any case.

  “Doc Winter thinks Smyth might have been poisoned and he definitely looked like he had. And let’s face it, if he was then a prison full of criminals gives us a pretty big suspect pool. Smyth’s COD was asphyxia and we’ve a working theory that there could be counterfeit medication involved, to wit, the blue tabs. The Doc thought there might have been poison inside them. A two-drug combo kind of thing, but that’s still to be proved.”

  The words prompted a round of murmuring that Craig thought created the perfect handover point. He nodded his relieved deputy to sit down and rose to his feet.

  “OK, you should all have heard of Operation Pangea XI, and if you haven’t then where have you been living for the past few months? Go and educate yourselves. Basically Pangea was and is a counterfeit meds operation because both home-grown and imported meds are a big problem for Ireland for several reasons, and stamping them out isn’t helped by the law. The penalties aren’t as high as a lot of people believe they should be, or are for dealing the usual, illegal drugs, mainly because the justice system hasn’t caught up with the criminals yet so we’re relying mostly on smuggling and import regulation breaches for penalties, although there have been a few people done on being part of an organised crime networks. Also, the sellers are often overseas so getting at them is a long, hard slog, so it’s mostly any importers or middle men here that we’re getting first. Where they exist that is; remember a lot of people buy directly online and on
ly order small quantities for themselves, so not everyone importing these drugs is a dealer or a criminal, lots of them are potential victims.”

  There was a snort from the back of the group and Craig’s third D.C.I. and ex-Vice cop Aidan Hughes’ strong Belfast accent rang out.

  “Or else they’re eejits. They don’t know what they’re getting when they order that crap.”

  Craig took a quick sip of the coffee he’d been holding in his hand for the previous five minutes and nodded.

  “Aidan’s exactly right and that’s point number three. Buyers don’t know what they’re getting –they might think that they’re buying a regulated medication from a foreign website, but get something completely different. Some of these meds have ten times the strength of the drug they claim to be, and a lot more have tested as containing rat poison and bleach-”

  Andy’s finger shot up again but Craig shook his head.

  “I’ll come back to you in a minute, Andy. OK, I know some of you will probably say, so what? Street drugs are sometimes cut with bleach and other rubbish to bulk them up as well, so it’s always buyer beware. If you buy illegally you deserve whatever you get.”

  Annette protested. “I would never think that.”

  “Yes, well, you were a nurse, Annette, and you’re a lot less cynical than the rest of us. The point is that these people think they’re buying official medication, so legal drugs, not heroin or coke, and while we might think they’re buying them from dodgy websites so that makes them criminals, some of those overseas websites look legit and we can’t know anyone’s reasons for buying meds. Some people could be buying them out of desperation because the drugs aren’t on license here for their particular condition, some because their doctors here won’t prescribe them even if they are. Some people are trusting and naive and don’t want to bother the NHS so they try to treat themselves, and so on. None of those are a good reason to be allowed to die.”

  He paused for a second to gaze pleadingly at his part-time secretary Alice for a coffee top-up and then carried on.