The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) Page 7

  “I’m fine, sir, honestly. The kids are fine too, although it’s hard for them knowing that Pete’s in jail.”

  Craig’s voice was firm. “He deserves to be there and hopefully the court will give him years. By the way, how are things with Mike?”

  She made a face, not about Mike Augustus but about her teenage son. “Jordan’s not happy about me seeing him.”

  “Amy?”

  She smiled. “She’s just pleased that I’m happy.” Her voice dropped. “But she’s refusing to visit Pete.”

  Craig shook his head unsympathetically. “There’s nothing you can do about that. Let him try to make things up to her once he’s out. It’s not your job.”

  Annette’s face brightened. “Actually, sir, I wanted to ask you something. Would it be OK if I started to use my maiden name at work? I know I’m not divorced just yet but I’d like to now the nisi’s through.”

  Craig laughed. “Do you think Liam will be able to cope? We don’t want to confuse him.”

  She thought of Liam’s reaction and smiled. “Oh yes we do. I’ll keep McElroy privately, for the kids’ sake, but I’d like to be called Annette Eakin here.”

  Craig nodded. “Fine. Let admin know and I’ll announce it at the next briefing.”

  She rose to leave, a broad smile on her face. “I feel years younger already. Annette Eakin. I haven’t been called that since I was in my twenties.”

  “Just as long as you don’t start acting twenty something I’ll be happy. I’ve already got enough Generation Ys to deal with in this team.”

  ****

  Davy picked at the Save the Whale sticker on his PC, slowly peeling it off. Lucia had given it to him on a night out months before and it was beginning to look tatty now. As he scraped off the last remnant the musak he’d been listening to on the phone died away and Des Marsham’s cheerful voice came down the line.

  “Davy? Are you still there?”

  Davy dropped the sticker in the bin and nodded, remembering to grunt yes as well.

  “OK, good. Well, the short answer is that we’ve no hits on the first two victims at all. I’ve tried the police national computer, passports and driving licences, but there’s nothing on either mugshots or prints.”

  Davy turned his attention to an errant strand of hair, yanking it out absentmindedly as Nicky winced.

  “You s…said the first two. That means you have something on victim three.”

  “Well spotted. We got a hit. I sent the photos to the education authority as well and they recognised him.” He paused before continuing solemnly. “He was still at secondary school.”

  “Runaway?”

  “No. The school didn’t even notice that he’d gone. The fifth form is off for three weeks on revision pre-exams, so they thought that he was at home studying. His name’s Sam Beech; aged sixteen.”

  “Sixteen! That’s just a kid. How did no-one report him missing?”

  “The family did. I’ve just found the file and sent it through.”

  Davy clicked on his intranet and watched as the attachment appeared. After a quick read another grunt told Des that he’d received the mail. Des rose, readying to return to the three lots of cling-film that needed his attention. It was only a yelled “Des” that made him realise he hadn’t ended the call.

  “Sorry. I thought I’d hung up.”

  Before Davy could answer he had. Nicky had been watching the exchange and as Davy’s phone went down she bustled across the office, eager to know what he’d found out. She stood in front of his desk, arms folded and with a questioning look on her face. The analyst ignored her for a moment then remembered that she could outstare even Liam and that unless he gave her what she wanted she’d probably still be standing there at five o’clock.

  He raised his almond eyes slowly, accompanying the action with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Can I help you, Nicky?”

  Nicky’s arms tightened and her lips tightened to match. When she realised she couldn’t speak through them she quickly abandoned the stance.

  “What did Des have to say?”

  “And you need to know that, w…why?”

  “Don’t get funny with me, young man. I need to know everything that happens on this floor.”

  Just then Craig’s office door opened and he appeared beside her desk. He gazed around for a moment before he spotted Nicky halfway across the squad.

  “Nick, get me a copy of the Greer appeal, please. And we need to discuss the arrangements for Yemi’s trip.”

  She didn’t budge, knowing that her immobility would draw him over and gain her an ally. Craig fulfilled the first part of her prediction, but on the second he took Davy’s side.

  “Why are you giving Davy the evil eye?”

  “He’s withholding information.”

  It was a phrase she’d heard in briefings and had always thought it had sounded cool. Craig gave a small laugh.

  “That only applies in criminal cases.” He turned to Davy, amused. “Have you done something criminal?”

  “Only if denying Nicky something is a crime.”

  “Strangely, it’s not.”

  Craig placed his hands on her shoulders and walked her back towards her desk, ignoring the evil eye being turned on him. “Greer appeal, please. I’ll be there in a moment.” He turned back to Davy. “Care to elaborate?”

  The Emo gave a satisfied smirk that if Nicky had seen it would have earned him a clip on the ear.

  “Des just called. No joy on the first two victims but he got a hit on number three’s photograph with a local s…school.”

  He hit a key and an image of their third victim filled the screen. He was in school uniform.

  Craig gasped. “How old?”

  “Sixteen. He was in the fifth form. They w…were off on three week’s study leave, probably for their mock GCSEs at this time of year.”

  “Name?”

  “Sam Beech. His family reported him missing two weeks ago.”

  Nicky had been gearing up to put sugar into Craig’s coffee in vengeance but when she saw his expression she knew something was very wrong. She ventured close enough to hear his next words.

  “Find Liam and tell him to meet me at the lab. I’ll need two copies of that file to take with me.”

  He turned to catch Nicky gawping and strode past her into his office, reappearing with his jacket and keys.

  “I’ll get the Greer report when I get back.”

  Davy loped across with the files and Craig was at the lift before Nicky could ask him anything. When Davy brought her up to date her face dropped.

  “But why didn’t we hear about a missing child on the news?”

  Davy shrugged. “Because he’s sixteen I s…suppose. They probably just thought that he’d run away.”

  He tapped up the Net, searching for news of a missing local boy. On the third click he found it and read aloud.

  “Sam Beech, sixteen. Disappeared from the Demesne Estate. Last seen walking to the youth club to meet his friends.”

  “That’s all there is? No nationwide search? No alert?”

  “Teenagers leave home all the time. I’ll check the missing person’s report.”

  They were still reading it as Annette entered the squad ten minutes later, cheerfully waving a piece of paper.

  “Time to celebrate, people.”

  Nicky’s expression said it would have to wait then Annette saw what was on Davy’s screen.

  “One of our victims?”

  “The third. He was sixteen. Disappeared two w…weeks ago. The Chief and Liam are meeting at the lab then they’re visiting his folks.”

  Annette’s eyes widened. Liam wasn’t renowned for his tact so death notifications were normally given to her. She lifted her mobile and pressed dial; three rings later Craig answered. From the echo she knew he was already at the lab.

  “Yes, Annette?”

  “Sorry to bother you, sir, but I’d like to help. I’m not off to London till tomorrow night and
this case sounds like it could–”

  He finished her sentence. “Do with some TLC. You’re right, but Liam needs the practice so he’s coming to see the parents with me. I take it Davy’s brought you up to speed, so get a copy of the boy’s file and head down to the school. We’ll meet you there in an hour.”

  He clicked off just as Liam appeared, grumbling loudly.

  “Why’d you drag me away, boss? I was going great guns with the street lads.”

  “Why were you working with the patrols?”

  Liam stared at him, wondering if it was a trick question. He answered anyway. “To try and identify the Vics.”

  Craig glanced across the room at Des who was stroking his beard like it was a pet; it was verging on disturbing. He turned back to Liam, speaking deliberately slowly. “And what has Des just done?”

  “Identified one of the vic…” Liam’s eyes narrowed. “Oh very funny. Ha ha. OK, so he managed to I.D. one of them but the last I heard we had three stiffs.”

  Craig rolled his eyes. “Dear God, Liam, that’s someone’s children you’re talking about. Show a bit of respect.”

  He started grumbling again while Craig crossed the room to Des.

  “We’re heading over to see Sam Beech’s parents and I wondered if you had anything more before we did.”

  Des turned to the file on his desk. “You’ve already got most of this. Sam Beech, date of birth second of January nineteen ninety-nine, attends Demesne High School where he’s in the fifth form doing his GCSEs in June. The school gave them three weeks study leave for their mock exams starting on the ninth of March, so he wasn’t due back a school till next week. According to the notes his mother reported Sam missing on the sixteenth, after he went to meet his mates at the youth club and didn’t return home.”

  Craig tapped the file. “His friends said that he never reached the club. That points to a street abduction.” He turned to Liam. “I need you to canvas the youth club. One of his mates might know something.”

  Liam screwed up his face. “But he never got there.”

  “That’s what the report says but kids lie. Des, anything more on the body?”

  “Nope. Same as the others, except no injuries other than the restraints. To all intents he looks like a low risk kid.”

  Craig shook his head. “Something he did got him killed, even if it was only speaking to the wrong person.” He gestured at the fuming cabinet, where the cling-film was being exposed to cyanoacrylate. “Any prints?”

  It was asked without hope of a positive answer so they were surprised when Des gave a slight nod. The forensic expert caveated it quickly when he saw optimism flash in Craig’s eyes.

  “I didn’t say yes.”

  “Too late, you nodded.”

  “I was nodding at the possibility of finding something.”

  He moved to the cabinet and pointed at something they couldn’t see, his ability to spot emerging clues honed by years on the job.

  “There’s what looks like a smudge on the first outer sheet of cling-film. But don’t get excited, it mightn’t give us anything.”

  Craig patted him on the shoulder. “I have faith in you.”

  As he turned to leave Liam shook his head, like the grim reaper announcing the end was nigh.

  “You’ve done it now, mate. Gone and got his hopes up. Prepare to be hounded to death till we’ve solved the whole lot.”

  ****

  The Demesne Estate. 1 p.m.

  The report said that Sam Beech’s parents were actually parent singular; a mother, Sarah. She’d been abandoned by Sam’s father a decade earlier and, after a succession of partners whose motives had ranged from gaining a roof over their heads to having a punch bag on whom to take out their bad moods, she’d finally decided that Sam was all that she needed in life. But not, Craig speculated, before considerable damage had been done to her young son.

  He followed the twisting side roads till they reached the heart of East Belfast’s Demesne Estate and parked his elderly Audi, wondering if it would still have wheels when they emerged. The flat they wanted was two storeys up and of a type being demolished and replaced. The planners clearly hadn’t reached the Beeches yet.

  As Sarah Beech answered her front door her face paled anxiously, as if she’d been waiting for someone to call. She pulled the thin door open a sliver, yanking it wider when Craig took out his badge. The door’s weight made her fall back against the wall and he wasn’t surprised; she was a wisp of a malnourished woman, barely five-feet-one in the socks she stood in and weighing around six stone. Her son had been slight as well; the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree and the worms had been at them both.

  “May we come in, Ms Beech? It’s about your son.”

  Any last shred of reticence evaporated and with a hopeful smile she waved them into a wood-chipped front room. Craig’s heart sank, knowing that it would be the last flicker of hope she would ever have and that he would be the one to snuff it out.

  There is no easy way to break bad news; people much wiser than him had researched the options for years. Standing or sitting, fast or slow, abrupt or soft, with questions answered or mystery maintained, they all inflicted a wound that would sting for years, before, if you were very lucky, it faded to a dull throb. Craig chose to do it fast and soft with Sarah Beech firmly in a seat. She looked barely strong enough to stand normally; grief might make her drop at their feet.

  For every way there is to break bad news there are even more ways for people to respond. All are chilling to the onlooker, but possibly the way in which Sarah Beech reacted was the worst. Although her mouth opened to ask them questions her eyes said that their answers couldn’t possibly be relevant to her. The police had obviously got it wrong; her Sammy was alive somewhere and any day now he would walk in through the door. She’d tell him off and run him a bath, then sit him in front of a DVD with his favourite takeaway.

  She shook her head as Craig was speaking, slightly so as not to offend; after all these nice men had come all the way to see her and she didn’t like to be rude. She wondered if they’d like some tea and rose to make a pot, but Liam steered her gently back to the sofa, his expression saying that her denial was cutting him to the bone.

  Craig answered every question gently, watching her face for some sign that she had already known that her son was dead. Not known in her heart like any mother would, but known in her mind because she’d been somehow involved in his demise. He hated the suspicion that made him watch and was thankful when he saw nothing to say yes. All he saw was a frail woman made frailer by losing the only thing she’d valued in the world and using her last modicum of strength to deny the truth.

  As Liam led the stunned mother to the car Craig made a call, and as Liam headed to the mortuary for the formal I.D. he drove to meet Annette at the late Sam Beech’s school.

  ****

  “How did she take it, sir?”

  Craig shook his head, remembering Sarah Beech’s pallor and lack of tears. He’d seen the reaction before, just as he’d seen all the others, and he knew exactly what it meant. She hadn’t heard him. Yes, she’d heard the words, just as she would see her son’s body in the mortuary and know that he was dead, but she hadn’t really heard it in her heart. He doubted that the funeral would make her hear either or the silence that would greet her every morning when she awoke, or the school uniform hanging in the wardrobe or the computer games that Sam would never play with again. Only time would make her hear the truth and she had years ahead for that.

  “What’s the principal’s name?”

  “Mrs Davis. She’s on the third floor.”

  They climbed the three flights in silence, as Craig thought of Sarah Beech identifying her dead son at the mortuary, and Annette thought of Pete’s years of teaching P.E. at a school exactly like this. At the top of the stairs she turned left and they walked until they reached a mahogany door. It looked out of place in the modern school and Craig realised they were in the original wing, built in 192
1 according to the plaque.

  He gestured at the door. “Impressive, but I thought you said her name was Mrs Davis.” The nameplate announced Dr Ruth Davis. BA, PhD, MBA – Principal. It sounded very grand.

  Annette shrugged. “Shall I knock?”

  “Unless you’re telekinetic.”

  It was atypical sarcasm so she allowed it to pass; it had been a hard day and they still had a funeral to attend. She tapped the door twice and a formidable “come” emerged. The tone catapulted her back to being summoned to Matron’s office when she’d been a student nurse, with all the trepidation and panic that had accompanied such a command. It reminded Craig of occasions at school when he’d been dragged by the scruff of his neck to a room just like this. He’d been a good student and a cup winning jock, but he’d been too quick with his fists and it had earned him two suspensions and more detentions than he cared to admit.

  Annette pushed open the door, expecting to see a harridan behind a large desk. She couldn’t have been more surprised; the most formidable thing about the headmistress was her voice. The body hosting it was slight and almost elfin, and the dark-doored office was bright and fresh; so fresh that it verged on pretty, with silver framed photographs of pupils on the wall and similar ones of her family on the desk.

  Every available surface in the room was covered with flowers and ornaments, with a collection of antique perfume bottles taking pride of place. As Craig smiled at the room’s femininity the young principal walked towards him and her blue eyed smile had a disconcerting effect. To save his blushes Annette introduced them, sitting gratefully on one of the chairs the headmistress motioned them to. She felt tired suddenly, much more tired than her workload warranted. The stress of the divorce was obviously taking its toll.

  As Craig regained his composure, via thoughts that said any schoolboy would deliberately commit infractions if a visit to the principal’s office meant this, Annette outlined why they’d come.

  “We spoke on the phone, Dr…”

  The headmistress shook her head. “Ruth, please.” She nodded solemnly. “Yes, Sam Beech. You wanted to know about him? May I ask why?”