The Killing Year (The Craig Crime Series Book 17) Page 8

  Craig’s suddenly widening eyes said that he did now. With one leap he was out of bed and into the ensuite shower-room, shouting over the sound of running water to make himself heard.

  “CAN YOU TELL JOHN TO GET READY? I’LL DROP HIM OFF HOME ON MY WAY TO WORK.”

  She passed on the message and then headed for the front door, and the next sound that Craig heard was his friend’s exhausted groan.

  “Oh God, my head... Do you have any paracetamol?”

  “Kitchen drawer. There’ll be coffee on.”

  They continued the conversation as Craig emerged from the shower and dressed.

  “How do you want to play last night, John? I can take the blame if you like. Say that I called you to attend a scene?”

  The pathologist nodded and then thought better of the movement, muttering a weak, “That’d be good. The nanny will be at the house by now and Natalie leaves for work at eight. I’ll just send her a coward’s apology text and elaborate tonight.”

  Craig appeared in the kitchen and topped up his espresso. “So, I’ll drop you at the labs?”

  John shook his head gingerly. “It’ll take you out of your way. I’ll call a taxi.”

  The detective was grateful; he really needed to be at the office before the other murder teams arrived. It was going to be a tough meeting and him being late would make matters worse. He could hear the accusations of ‘disrespectful’ and ‘arrogant’ already.

  Ten minutes later John was in a taxi and Craig was on his way to work. As he arrived on the tenth floor Nicky was spooning coffee into the percolator.

  “Don’t tell me. You’d like a coffee.”

  “Several, but the second one will have to wait until the meeting’s all set up.” He followed her into the kitchen. “Which room did you book?”

  “Sixth floor, room twenty. It’s free all day if your meeting goes on.”

  All day!

  She missed his look of despair as she filled the percolator with water.

  “From my guess I’d say you only had one pint to drink last night, but Doctor Winter had far more?”

  “How did you know?”

  She walked past him back on to the floor. “You have the look of a man who spent an exhausting but not a drunken night. Trouble in the Winters’ paradise?”

  He answered her question with one of his own. “Speaking of trouble, what’s up with you and Donna? She told Jack Harris about yesterday’s killings instead of phoning you.”

  When Nicky’s bright-red painted lips pursed on the word ‘Donna’, he knew that his instinct had been correct. The two PAs had had a falling out.

  “All I’m going to say is that she’s a very cruel woman.”

  Craig knew that wouldn’t be all she’d say as soon as she’d uttered the words, and as the PA switched on the percolator the whole story came flooding out.

  “I mean, would you wear the same dress as your friend to a wedding? Would you? Not the exact same, I grant you, but apart from the flower on the left shoulder and a bit of lace it could have been…”

  Her voice faded into the background as Craig went into listening mode, a smile fixed on his face but his mind on the difficult meeting ahead. It was a state of fake-alertness that he’d perfected growing up with his garrulous mother Mirella; in both English and Italian he’d developed the ability to say, “Uh huh” and nod in the right places while thinking of something else.

  A slight pause gave him his cue.

  “Really?”

  Proof that he’d got it exactly right came with Nicky’s next words.

  “Yes, really. That’s exactly what I said. My Gary was…”

  He was saved from further comment by Liam appearing on the floor.

  “Hello, hello, hello, what’s all this then?”

  The DCI had learnt his police technique from watching episodes of vintage TV cop shows, Dixon of Dock Green and Z-Cars being amongst his favourites.

  Nicky paused just long enough to acknowledge his entrance before continuing her diatribe, so Liam busied himself making a mug of tea.

  When Craig had nodded for a few seconds longer he said, “That all sounds terrible, Nicky. Donna should be ashamed”, and jerked his head meaningfully towards his office, following Liam in and shutting the door.

  The DCI set down his mug and took a seat.

  “What was all that about?”

  “Donna and she have fallen out. Something to do with some dress.”

  Craig fell into his chair and yawned loudly.

  “You look like crap, boss.”

  The detective gave a weak laugh. “Don’t sugar coat it, will you. Anyway, so would you if you’d listened to John ranting about Natalie for four hours and then had to pour him into bed.”

  Liam took a gulp of tea. “Married bliss. You should try it sometime. Anyway, that’s enough domestic stuff. I saw Gerald Roper last night.”

  Craig leaned forward eagerly. “And?”

  “Aye, well. I wouldn’t get all excited. He’s not our man. Didn’t even know that his wife had disappeared.”

  “He would say that if he was the murderer.”

  Liam shook his head. “Nah. He was in the States on business and, before you ask, yes, I’ve checked.” He winced as he recalled Roper’s distress the evening before. “It was a hell of a shock for him. He hadn’t even known she was missing - they hadn’t spoken in days ’cos of the time difference. He says that always happens when he’s in the US.”

  Craig sat back with a nod. “He IDed the body?”

  “Yep, and it’s definitely her. But there was something interesting. He said she’d been making a documentary on drugs in Ireland, that’s her new thing apparently, and apparently she’d been interviewing some pretty nasty scum.”

  He could tell immediately that it didn’t float Craig’s boat.

  “Check it out, but my gut says no. We need to nail down her movements as well, so give that part to Annette, please.”

  That suited Liam just fine; weeping television staff he could do without.

  He straightened up, rubbing his hands. “OK, so how are you going to handle this meeting?”

  Craig shrugged “Tell them the truth, I suppose. That’s all I can do. The C.C. wants it all brought under one eye and I’m it.”

  Liam applauded slowly. “Absolutely brilliant plan. Blame the C.C. for everything and pray that it doesn’t get back to him. Now, why didn’t I think of that?”

  His sarcasm took Craig aback.

  “I take it you don’t think that I should say it was his idea.”

  “Not if you want to rise any higher than DCS! Flanagan’s set you a test to see how you handle a difficult diplomatic situation, and I’m damn sure that doesn’t mean he wants a bunch of angry DCIs and Supers moaning at his door in an hour’s time.” He took another swig of his tea. “Wake up, boss. You’re normally sharper than this.”

  Craig wasn’t so sure of that; honesty was his default position on most things and being slippery made him itch, but he could see Liam’s logic.

  “OK. How’s this then? I’ll say that when yesterday’s two cases were passed to me we spotted similarities with their earlier cases, and felt that one team taking the lead made sense. I approached the C.C. and he OKed it.”

  Liam nodded. “Much better. That way we get the blame.”

  “We?”

  “OK, you then. So how do you stop the riot after you’ve said it?”

  “By agreeing to brief them regularly and inviting a DCI of their choice to join our team for the duration.”

  Liam rolled his eyes. “Just what I need. Another mouthy DCI to handle.” His eyes lit up suddenly. “Any chance you could make it a bird?”

  Craig nearly choked. “A bird? What is this, the nineteen-sixties? Anyway, it’s up to them. They’ll choose whoever they want to choose.”

  Liam was unimpressed. “Aye well, it’s all right for you, you won’t have to listen to them all day. I don’t see you inviting one of their superintendents to jump
on board, do I?”

  “Correct.” Craig leapt to his feet and headed for the door. “Remember. There can only ever be one boss.”

  ****

  The Cave Hill. County Antrim. 8.30 a.m.

  The middle-aged man scanned the frosted upland for a suitable stick to throw. He had very particular requirements: the wood had to be dry enough not to be chewy but not so dry that it would crack, splinters were a no-no. It also had to be narrow enough to fit comfortably in his Labrador’s mouth. When he’d found two that fitted his requirements Dan Torrance held the first stick above his head, smiling as the elderly black-haired bitch that had once been his tiny puppy pawed excitedly at his trouser legs.

  “Good girl, Maple.”

  The twig went flying through the air.

  “Fetch.”

  The word was redundant as the ball of black fur was already racing to retrieve its prize.

  Torrance fingered the second stick in his pocket and continued on his leisurely stroll, his amused gaze following his pet’s adventure but his mind on other things. The Labrador stopped suddenly, her nose pressing excitedly against the discovered twig as if she’d found the Holy Grail, and her thick, strong tail thrashing from side to side at the thrill. Her master stopped as well, less focused on his pet’s discovery than on the meeting he’d attended the evening before; the regular Wednesday night gathering of his local Alcoholics Anonymous group.

  Without realising that he’d done so Torrance inhaled deeply, but instead of it making him cough and exhausting him as it would have done years before it brought him pleasure in the freshness of the morning air. To most people it would probably seem like a small thing, but then most people hadn’t spent years trying to kill themselves with booze.

  He continued slowly on his way, aware that Maple was now trotting by his side her prize firmly clenched between strong jaws, but with his mind on events that had taken place decades before. It always surprised him how strong the memories were, how even though his body was clean of toxins now his mind wouldn’t let go of the thoughts. No longer thoughts of craving but thoughts of how narrow his escape had been, and of the pain that had once led him to that dark place, a place that he was now completely free of, as last night’s meeting had borne testament to.

  He stopped at the brow of the hill and gazed around him, up at the basalt outcrop known locally as Napoleon's Nose, and down over the whole of Belfast, thinking how much the city had grown in a very few years, then he prised the now moist twig from his dog’s mouth and retrieved the second from his pocket, propelling it even further than the first before he strolled on.

  Dougie’s request the evening before had taken him by surprise, not because he hadn’t been a sponsor before, but because of how unsuccessful he had been in the role; his so-called support had been an abject failure for the recovering alcoholic within his charge. Yet now the group organiser had asked him again; a true triumph of optimism over experience if ever there was one.

  He smiled as Maple barked excitedly, discovering her new toy amongst a clump of gorse, and watched as she trotted proudly towards him, her sleek black head held aloft. Perhaps that was why he’d been trusted with a female charge this time; perhaps someone had seen him with his dog.

  As he turned for home, his bounding companion racing far ahead, Dan Torrance determined that this time Dougie’s trust in him wouldn’t prove misplaced.

  ****

  The Labs.

  John Winter was on his fourth cup of coffee and it was still barely half-past-eight, but the legendary power of caffeine, well, that was what Craig always called it anyway, was finally beginning to perk him up. Perking up or not he was still sitting legs-up with his eyes closed when Mike arrived, to find his boss behind what for the previous few weeks had been his desk.

  The junior pathologist swallowed his unentitled annoyance quickly, but not without a mental huff at John also having reinstated his leather swivel chair. The feelings taught Augustus something; he wanted to be the boss someday. For now, he’d just have to make do with buying a leather throne to sit in at home.

  He took a seat opposite, watching as John’s eyes opened just a crack.

  “Hello, Doctor Winter. I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

  “Mmm…”

  It was a moan of sorts, but Mike translated it as ‘Good morning’ and forged on.

  “So, shall I examine one injection site while you do the other? Then we can get to their internal organs after lunch?”

  Another “Mmm…” said that he was on the right track, just a bit too quickly for his boss. Mike took the sound, plus the almost empty percolator, as a sign that more coffee and possibly even breakfast was needed to restore normal service and steered John to the staff canteen for both.

  ****

  The C.C.U. 6th Floor. 9 a.m.

  Craig wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected to see when he entered the conference room, but Liam’s prediction proved spot on. A bunch of fourteen, suited and booted, grumpy faced, more male than female senior officers were muttering in unison, generating the low rumble that they’d heard when they’d emerged from the lift.

  Craig had halted at the end of the corridor to listen, signalling Liam to do the same, and attempted to distinguish the themes of the furious fugue. The loud crescendos were easy to interpret; all fourteen officers being pissed-off at once, but the quieter moments, although less frequent, were comprised of utterings that sounded almost reasonable, and those were the ones that had given him hope.

  He’d whispered “Not everyone’s furious, Liam. Some of them can see the point of the investigation having a single lead.”

  The deputy had screwed up his face sceptically. “How do you work that out? All I can hear is pissed-off plus.”

  Craig had shaken his head and walked on, more confident than he’d been when he’d left the squad-room. All he had to do was spot the people who could be persuaded and work to get them on his side. The faces that greeted him as he opened the door said that would be easier to hope for than do. It looked like a crowd preparing for a riot, with no-one inclined to give way.

  While Craig took a seat behind the desk at the front of the room Liam folded his arms and stood by the door, his face set in a grim mask that said ‘don’t fuck with us’. All that was missing was his woad.

  “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for coming at such short notice.”

  A loud baritone in the back-row hit back. “Didn’t know we had any choice.”

  Craig recognised the voice as belonging to Nick Dawlish, Liam’s favourite pick for kicking off.

  Liam took a threatening step forward from his guard post, but Craig already had things in hand.

  “You all had a choice, Nick. No-one had to come, so I’m grateful that you did.”

  Dawlish wasn’t mollified. “You won’t do any better with the cases than we did. Whoever’s doing this is like the Scarlet Pimpernel.”

  A crescendo of grumbling from three men on his left threatened to drown out Craig’s reply, but after a loud growl from Liam it faded away. Craig was torn over his deputy’s Rottweiler stance, implying as it might do his own weakness, but he rationalised that almost everyone in the force knew Liam, so they’d know growling was simply his status quo.

  Craig moved around to the front of the desk and trotted out the words he’d agreed with his deputy thirty minutes before. They were greeted by renewed griping, so he held up a hand until it had died down.

  “I know you’re annoyed that I requested your cases from the C.C., but, let’s be honest, we can’t afford to have any more deaths.”

  The grumbling restarted but this time he continued over it.

  “I can’t solve my two murders without understanding the ones that have gone before, and you all hold that information, so I need your help. This makes eleven dead people now since last December and we’re no nearer to finding out why. We can’t allow this to continue, surely you can all agree with that?”

  The softer notes of th
e fugue dominated the response this time, and Deidre Murray raised a finger to cut in. Liam answered before Craig could.

  “Yes, Dee.”

  The two DCIs had been on courses together where they’d been the last two in the bar, and they’d forged the late-night drinkers’ bond. Plus, Liam liked to believe that Murray had a little thing for him that only their respective spouses prevented them acting on. For once the normally delusional Romeo seemed to be right. Murray shot him a winning smile before turning back to Craig.

  “We’ve all worked hard on these cases.”

  “And your information is very valuable.”

  “So, what if we don’t want to relinquish them?”

  It was an unmistakable challenge, but her tone of voice said that she was prepared to be reasonable.

  Craig answered without hesitation, his response already prepared.

  “The day-to-day operation can only be carried out by one team or we’ll trip over ourselves, but I promise that you as a group will receive regular daily updates, either by email or face-to-face, and be offered the chance to input through those.” He had a sudden flash of inspiration. “Liam will run those, so you know there’ll be free exchange.”

  Liam wasn’t sure if he was being set up or not, but before he could object Craig had moved on.

  “Also, I want you to nominate a DCI to join our team for the duration, and of course they’ll keep you up-to-date as well, less formally. But first, I’d like to run through the cases with you and see if there’s anything new to report.”

  It was Liam’s cue to produce a folder from his jacket and pass the handouts inside it around. Craig noticed that he made sure to give Deidre Murray hers personally, probably favouring her with the one with the most body warmth.

  It was the cue for an hour of discussion to start, over the coffee and Danishes that Nicky had arranged. The meeting was just beginning to prove productive when the door was suddenly flung open with a bang.

  An aggressive entrance by anyone was bad enough, but it heralded the appearance of Craig’s worst nightmare. He looked up from his coffee to see DCI Susan Richie scowling into his face, and the immediate buzz that started made it clear how popular she was with the rabble-rousers in the room.