by Derek Fee
Graham flicked through the pages of the small book. ‘There are probably a hell of a lot of leads to follow up here. There’s no obvious sign of blood or a struggle that I can see.’ He dropped the book into an evidence bag and sealed it.
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ Browne said. ‘If Whyte has come to harm, it didn’t happen in his home. But I suppose we must wait for Forensics to confirm that. We need to establish a timeline for July 11th and 12th.’
‘Maybe he went out on a march,’ Graham said tongue-in-cheek. The twelfth of July holiday in Northern Ireland was the main day of the marching season when many of the Protestant population celebrated the victory of William of Orange over King James at the Battle of the Boyne.
‘I wish he’d picked a better day to disappear than one with all that mayhem going on.’
‘Where to next?’ Graham asked.
‘We need to draw up a list of his friends and organise some interviews. Someone might know something useful.’ Browne handed the file of bank statements to Graham. ‘He didn’t disappear because of financial difficulties anyway.’
Graham looked at the last document in the file and whistled. ‘Four hundred and twenty grand in the bank.’ His own account was fifteen hundred overdrawn, as it was every month. ‘We need to check it’s still there. Some boys in this town would gut you for a small percentage of that.’ He removed an evidence bag from his pocket, dropped the bank file in and sealed it.
‘Might it be the motive for the disappearance?’
‘It might indeed.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Wilson drove into the yard in front of the warehouse on the Ballymacarrett Road and parked next to a Skoda Octavia. He cut the engine and exited the car. As he approached the door, he saw that the lock the forensic team had put on had already been opened. He found Matthews inside, inspecting the wall at the rear. The investigator turned as soon as he heard Wilson approach.
Wilson looked at his watch. ‘Am I late?’ He knew that he wasn’t.
‘No,’ Matthews said. ‘I arrived early.’
Matthews wasn’t a good liar and this wasn’t a good start to their relationship. ‘You wouldn’t have been trying to steal a march on me?’ Wilson asked.
‘Perish the thought, I just don’t want to waste your time.’ Matthews took out a sheaf of paper and shone a torch on it. ‘This is the statement you signed at Strandtown station after the shooting. What were you doing here?’
Wilson walked to the centre of the warehouse and pointed down. ‘Shine your torch on the ground.’
Matthews did as he was requested. He saw the dark stain on the concrete floor.
‘That stain is Sammy Rice’s blood. I think this is the spot where he was murdered. The case is still open and we’re still searching for Rice’s body and his killer. I come here occasionally hoping I’ll get inspiration that’ll help me move the case forward.’
Matthews nodded his head as though the answer seemed feasible enough. ‘Where were you when the assassin entered the warehouse?’
Wilson moved to the area that Matthews was examining when he entered. ‘Here.’
‘And what were you doing there?’
‘Praying for inspiration, as far as I remember.’
‘And you heard the door open?’
‘Yes, and I saw a man silhouetted against the light carrying an assault weapon. I dropped to the ground, shouted a warning and kept my head down while he sprayed the wall behind me. Then I returned fire in his direction and he must have decamped. It all happened so quickly.’
‘And you hit no one.’
‘I don’t know. I kept my head down until I heard the noise of an engine starting up outside. Then I knew he was gone. I called it in, but I had no idea of the type of vehicle he escaped in.’
‘It must have been traumatic.’
‘I would have preferred a bun fight. I’ve been a copper for a good while, but I’ve never been subjected to a burst of fire from an automatic weapon. It’s not the most pleasant sensation to have bullets flying around your head. Adrenaline kicks in, you remember your training and you react.’
‘Have you any idea how many shots you fired?’
‘No. It seemed like six, but my gun was taken from me when the squad car arrived. I didn’t check the magazine.’
Matthews walked towards the front of the warehouse where Brennan had been shot. He shone his torch on a patch of what looked like blood. ‘Could you have hit the assailant?’
‘I might have. My shots weren’t well directed. I’m sure Strandtown would have checked with the hospitals.’
Matthews shone his torch on the wall above the patch. ‘It looks like six bullets hit this wall. How many bullets were in the magazine?’
‘There should have been seventeen, but I’m not sure.’
‘Forensic found six shells.’
‘Then I must have fired six.’
‘Thank you, detective superintendent, that’ll be all for now.’
‘Let me know when you need me again.’
‘I’ll do that.’
Wilson left the warehouse confident that he had answered all Matthews’ questions. He noted that there had been no small talk about rugby this time. He’d need to look up Matthews’ background. There couldn’t have been many shooting incidents investigated by the Royal Bahamas Police.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Charles Heavey stood up from the wooden bench in the reception area when Browne and Graham returned from Elmwood Mews. ‘DS Browne,’ he said before they disappeared.
Browne turned to Graham. ‘This is Charles Heavey, Whyte’s friend.’
Graham and Heavey shook hands.
‘I’ll deal with this,’ Browne said. ‘Log the evidence and then let Siobhan take a look at the financial statements.’
‘Yes, sergeant.’ Graham started up the stairs.
‘What’s happening?’ Heavey said.
‘My boss has agreed to investigate Whyte’s disappearance. We’ve been to Elmwood Mews and there’ll be a forensic examination of the flat. I doubt if anything happened there. You should stay out of this. We’ll interview you in due course, but please don’t come to the station again.’
‘What about Vincent? I’m worried about him and so are a lot of others.’
‘One thing at a time. Investigating the disappearance of Whyte will use up a lot of our resources.’
‘What if the disappearances are connected?’
‘They’re most likely not. Vinny is a butterfly. He could have hooked up with someone and gone off to Paris on an adventure. Sooner or later he’ll turn up.’
‘What if he doesn’t?’
‘Then we’ll look for him when we find Whyte. Now leave us to do our job.’
‘There’s a lot of disquiet in the LGBT community about the way cases involving gender-diverse individuals are being handled by the PSNI. There’s talk about sending a delegation to the chief constable.’
‘They can do whatever they want. Don’t come to the station again. If you need any news, phone me.’
Browne turned and climbed the stairs. He was worrying that he would become the ‘LGBT man’ in the Murder Squad. He glanced at the boss’s office and saw it was empty. He walked ahead to the whiteboard.
Moira was keeping her head down. There’d been no mention of the warehouse or of her being there. She knew that the Police Ombudsman’s Office was investigating the shooting and since they hadn’t contacted her, she assumed that her involvement had been erased. It wouldn’t have mattered because there was nothing she could have added since she hadn’t taken part in the events inside the warehouse. But it might have contributed to the idea that there had been some level of premeditation on Wilson’s part. She was plodding through the details of the lives of Davie Best and Eddie Hills. One or both had to have some prior connection with Coastguard Avenue in Helen’s Bay. So far she had come up with nothing. Neither man had been born or raised locally or appeared to have relations living in the area. But i
f they were the culprits, there had to be some reason they knew of a small turnoff that ended at the edge of the sea. She had checked with the drone clubs and they had put the word out by email to their members. It was doubtful, but something might come of it. Her search for another line of inquiry had so far come up dry. She needed action. She would prefer to be working on the Whyte disappearance. There was more flesh on the bones to pick in that case. She appreciated the boss’s strategy of easing her back into the job, but right now she didn’t need to spend her days behind a desk. She needed to be out there and she believed that her salvation lay in the Carlisle investigation. Davidson had done a fine piece of detecting and the conclusion was there for all to see: Helen McCann had been instrumental in the murder of Jackie Carlisle. She saw the danger in the case. That was part of its attraction.
Wilson took his time in returning to the office. There was nothing urgent and he fancied a stroll along the Lagan. The Titanic Centre was close-by, and he parked there. He considered a coffee at the Galley Café but tourists were jammed into the small space and the reception area was thronged. He strolled back towards the SSE Arena and bought a coffee from a shop that had picnic tables in front.
It was a beautiful summer’s day, so he sat for a while and watched the tourists trailing from town along his jogging path. Then he took out his phone and brought up the front page of The Irish Times. The lead article described the finding of the body of Philly Brennan on a back road in a place called Ballyboghill in north County Dublin. The Garda statement said that Brennan appeared to be the victim of the current feud between rival drug gangs. He had been shot several times and the fatal shot had been to the head. Wilson closed his phone. Whoever shot Brennan had been accurate in his shooting. His shots had been wild so maybe he got lucky, or maybe he wasn’t the killer. There was no point in asking Duane because he would just receive the answer that Duane assumed he’d want to hear. The whole Brennan affair brought him no nearer to pinning Jackie Carlisle’s murder on Helen McCann. He was certain that she had been the instigator and that Simon Jackson had carried out the murder. Was Jackson a contractor, or was Special Branch behind the operation? It had all the hallmarks of a Black Bob operation. But he needed more proof and there was only one way to get it. He needed to lay his hands on Jackson.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
‘What have we got?’ Wilson looked at Browne and Graham as they sat before him.
Browne ran through the search at the flat.
‘Four hundred and twenty thousand in the bank,’ Wilson said. ‘Let’s assume he owns the flat, that’s another two hundred thousand. Our friend Whyte was not short of a few pounds.’
‘Siobhan has been looking into his background,’ Browne said. ‘He may have received as much as two million when the bank he worked for was taken over.’
Wilson whistled. ‘Two million. I suppose all this was common knowledge.’
‘Anyone with a computer and an Internet connection could have discovered it,’ Browne said.
‘We have a very strong motive for murder then,’ Wilson said. ‘But first, we must check whether any of the money has disappeared along with Whyte. We also need to check on the inheritors. Get Siobhan busy on tracing Whyte’s family. How close was this guy Heavey to him?’
‘According to the diary,’ Browne said. ‘They had lunch every second Wednesday.’
‘The eleventh of July was a Wednesday,’ Graham noted.
‘Maybe that was the second Wednesday,’ Wilson said. ‘We need to get working on a timeline. It’s time to use some shoe leather. We need to dig up a lot of information over the next few days.’ Considering the level of Whyte’s bank account it’s probable that his friends are right to be concerned for him. Someone might have abducted him or maybe something worse. They would only find out when they examined all the information. ‘When will Forensics look at the flat?’
‘I’ll get on to them,’ Browne said.
‘The urgency level has moved up. It’s one thing for a man with problems to go missing. Guys like that are found working as porters in some out of the way hotel in the Scottish Highlands. But a single man without a worry in the world and a huge bank balance doesn’t disappear himself.’
‘Maybe he was hit on the head and he’s wandering around with amnesia,’ Graham said.
‘It’s a possibility,’ Wilson said. ‘Even if it is remote, it’s worth checking out.’
‘Siobhan has checked with the hospitals,’ Browne said. ‘There’s no sign of him there under his own name. I’ll get her to check for amnesia cases. There can’t be many.’
‘This man has been missing for a month,’ Wilson said. ‘We’re way behind on this case so we have to get moving. I want to speak to Heavey.’
‘I’ve already done that, boss,’ Browne said. It worried him that Heavey might run off at the mouth and drag Vincent Carmody into the picture.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Wilson said. ‘Write up your interviews. I need to get a feel for Whyte from the horse’s mouth. I’ll go to him. Where does he work?’
‘He’s a librarian at the McClay Library in Queen’s University,’ Browne said. ‘But I don’t think he has any further information.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Wilson didn’t know why his sergeant was resistant. Maybe it was time he took over the investigation himself. There was a very good possibility that Whyte had come to harm. But with no corpse, they were at a disadvantage. Their only hope was to generate the maximum amount of information and to try to identify the last person who saw Whyte alive. ‘Harry, you’ll keep the murder book up to date.’
‘You’re sure he’s been murdered, boss?’ Graham said.
‘We’ll keep an open mind,’ Wilson said. ‘But I can see why his friends are worried.’
Browne had been writing in his notebook. ‘There are a lot of issues we have to cover.’
‘Call Heavey and tell him I’m on my way. We’re playing catch-up here and that’s not a position I like to find myself in.’
‘We’re on it, boss,’ Browne said.
Wilson picked up his jacket and left.
Browne watched him go. He dialled the number of the McClay Library and said a silent prayer that Heavey wouldn’t mention Carmody’s disappearance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Parking within Queen’s University is restricted and the security guard who stopped Wilson at the entrance was not thrilled when he was shown a PSNI warrant card. Wilson told him his destination and the guard gave him a map and indicated an area where he might park. The McClay Library was at the rear of the campus beside the Botanic Gardens. Wilson parked his car where the guard had indicated and put his ‘Police on Duty’ plastic card where it was visible. He didn’t want to find a wheel booted when he exited. The library building was an ultra-modern edifice of glass and red brick and out of character with the old university buildings he passed on the way to his destination. The lobby seemed to have been designed by an architect more accustomed to working on hotels. As soon as Wilson entered, a man approached with his right hand extended.
‘Detective Superintendent Wilson.’
He didn’t add ‘I suppose’ as some people might have. Wilson nodded and shook. ‘Mr Heavey.’
‘Dr Heavey. Would you prefer to speak in my office? I’m afraid it’s a little cramped though. Perhaps the cafeteria would be more comfortable?’
Wilson looked around. There were a series of white tables and modern-looking orange armchairs in the reception area, none of which were occupied. ‘What about here?’
‘Perfect.’ Heavey led the way to the table furthest from the entrance and sat.
Wilson thought that Heavey couldn’t look more like a librarian if he had gone into a costumier and ordered a librarian costume. He wore a tweed herringbone jacket with leather patches on the elbows and brown corduroy trousers. He sported a red bow tie with his light blue shirt. When he crossed his legs, he displayed Pringle multicoloured socks sticking out of his English brogues.
‘I’m so glad you followed up on Roger’s disappearance.’
‘It’s our job to pursue an investigation where we believe someone has disappeared in unusual circumstances. What can you tell me about your friend? Try to think of something that you haven’t already discussed with DS Browne.’
‘Roger is smart, he got a double first at Oxford. He’s well-read, articulate, generous, an excellent conversationalist and an all-round decent fellow.’
‘Does he have a particular friend?’
‘Roger doesn’t have a partner, superintendent. He had a long-term partner in London who died. I’ve never known him to have a partner since he returned to Belfast.’
‘Does he have any family?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘You said he is generous.’
‘He’s always the first to pay for meals, drinks and the like. We never talked about money, but I think he is rather well-to-do. I get the impression that he is clever with money.’
‘Did people ever borrow from him?’
‘Knowing Roger, I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Some would say he has a cavalier approach to money.’
‘What you’re saying is that he throws it around?’
‘Not exactly, but he is generous with his friends.’
‘Would you be so good as to draw up a list of these friends?’
‘I’d be happy to. Do you think his disappearance has something to do with money?’
‘At the start of an investigation, we look into every possibility. I don’t wish to pry, Dr Heavey, but did you have a sexual relationship with Mr Whyte?’
‘A dalliance, once. We weren’t suited. Roger’s tastes are for younger men.’
‘He is promiscuous?’
‘It’s such a judgemental word, I’m afraid I can’t say.’
‘Did he have many lovers?’
‘He said so. But he never brought a lover home. As I told your sergeant, he is an obsessive-compulsive and wouldn’t be able to support anyone messing up his flat.’
Wilson stood. ‘Thanks for your time, Dr Heavey. You won’t forget that list for me. You can drop it into the station or pop it in the post.’ He took a business card from his pocket and placed it on the table.
