by Derek Fee
‘That Browne went off half-cocked without your approval and put himself in danger.’
‘DS Browne was discharged from hospital this morning. He was drugged and nearly lost his life. However, he exposed a man that we believe had already murdered two men and planned to murder many more. Yesterday, we had no evidence against this man; today, we probably have enough to put him away.’ He knew that the forensic team had been in Hillsborough since first light and that they had already discovered two burial sites. ‘Timoney is in the cells and I’m delaying his interrogation until I take a look at what Forensics come up with.’
‘We need to report all this to HQ.’ Davis sat back. ‘We can emphasise the positive result, but my guess is they will want their pound of flesh. I think you know that too.’
‘Like you said, we got a positive result. We hadn’t a shred of evidence against Timoney.’
‘Browne may have given up his career in a good cause.’
‘He needs friends. Timoney raped him. They used a rape kit at the hospital so we’ll have Timoney’s DNA.’
‘Holy God.’ Davis held her head in her hands. ‘Look, I’ll do what I can for the poor man. You write it up and we’ll work on it together.’
Wilson stood. ‘I’ll keep you informed.’
Wilson had collected Moira from the squad room and they had retraced their journey of the previous evening. Two TV trucks were stationed at either end of the road leading to the Timoneys’ house. The uniform on duty at the tape lifted it to allow Wilson’s car to pass. Moira signed them in. At the house, they put latex booties over their shoes and donned gloves before walking to where the forensic team was excavating the graves.
Wilson recognised Michael Finlay among the group of white-suited technicians. ‘Good morning, Mick.’
‘Good to see you, Ian.’
‘This is DS Moira McElvaney,’ Wilson said. ‘I don’t think you’ve met.’
‘I would have remembered if we had,’ Finlay said.
Another admirer Moira could add to the list, Wilson thought.
‘We’ve got the first one partly exposed.’ Finlay led them to the makeshift grave.
Wilson recognised the jacket Roger Whyte had been wearing when he disappeared. He took out his mobile phone and took a picture. ‘I want photos as soon as possible.’
‘You got it,’ Finlay said. ‘The graves are still fairly fresh so we’re making good progress. We should have the bodies disinterred by early afternoon. There are a couple of other sites but the ground radar shows them as animal remains.’
‘Perhaps Timoney was practising,’ Moira said.
‘Have the corpses sent to the Royal,’ Wilson said. ‘I want Professor Reid to do the autopsies.’
‘There’s something inside that I want to show you.’ Finlay led the way back up the garden and into the house, where he retrieved a clear plastic evidence bag with a mobile phone inside. He took the phone from the bag and pressed some buttons before handing it to Wilson. ‘It’s been dusted. Look at the video.’
Wilson pressed the arrow on the centre of the screen and watched Browne being raped in vivid colour. He hit pause and handed the phone back to Finlay. Timoney was one sick puppy. He would have to review the video later and, down the line, the prosecution would probably insist that it be played in court. He could only imagine the effect it would have on Rory.
‘We’ll send it along with the rest of the physical evidence,’ Finlay said.
‘Good job,’ Wilson slapped the young man on the back. He walked through the house and out the front door. Two men had ended their lives in that house. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but if they existed that’s where they’d be.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
They drove back to the station in silence. Watching a video of someone you know being raped can have that effect.
‘I think young Finlay took a shine to you,’ Wilson said as they entered the station.
‘I didn’t notice,’ Moira replied.
‘Let’s take a run at this gobshite.’
Wilson instructed the duty sergeant to have Timoney brought up and deposited in an interview room. And he wanted him handcuffed. Then he and Moira went to the TV room to watch Timoney as he was brought in and put sitting at the table. A uniformed officer stood at the door. Timoney looked up at the camera in the corner of the room and yawned.
‘Spence told me that in the old days an arrogant bastard like that might have a bad fall down the stairs on his way to the cells.’
‘Bring back the old days,’ Moira muttered under her breath.
‘I need a coffee. Let him stew.’
They returned to the TV room half an hour later. Timoney had his head resting on the table. Wilson turned to Moira. ‘I should have taken Mezrich more seriously. He’s a narcissist, and you don’t kill two people and bury them in your parents’ back garden if you’re not psychotic. I think we’re looking at our first psychopathic serial killer not fuelled by religious hatred or political ideology.’
‘I only did psychology for two years. We didn’t get on to psychopaths.’
‘I think we may spend some time with this boy. Let’s see what bullshit he wants to feed us.’
They walked into the interview room and sat at the table. Wilson nodded and the uniform left. Timoney ignored their arrival.
Moira switched on the recording device.
‘Mr Timoney,’ Wilson began. ‘My name is Detective Superintendent Ian Wilson, and this is Detective Sergeant Moira McElvaney. She has already cautioned you. You are accused of kidnapping and murdering Roger Whyte and Vincent Carmody and the kidnapping and attempted murder of Detective Sergeant Rory Browne. Are you ready to tell us why you murdered two men and buried them in your parents’ back garden?’
Timoney’s head came up slowly. He looked at Moira. ‘Last time the monkey interviewed me. This time they’ve sent the organ grinder as well.’ He turned towards Wilson. ‘You broke my ribs. I will sue you and the PSNI for police brutality.’
‘Please go ahead,’ Wilson said.
‘I want my solicitor.’
Wilson pushed a pen and paper across the table. ‘Write your solicitor’s name and address or phone number.’
Timoney took the pen, wrote down the details and pushed the paper back.
Wilson looked at the name on the paper. ‘DS McElvaney will you please contact Mr Cave and tell him his client wishes to see him.’
Moira took the paper and left. Graham entered and took Moira’s place.
‘DS McElvaney has left the room and DC Graham is now present,’ Wilson said. ‘Why did you kill Roger Whyte?’
‘No comment.’
‘Vincent Carmody was a helpless poor devil, why in God’s name did you kill him?’
‘No comment.’
Wilson stood up. ‘Interview terminated at twelve forty-one.’ He and Graham left together.
‘It’s a pity you didn’t break his fucking skull instead of his ribs,’ Graham said just before Wilson closed himself off in his office.
Sometimes Harry made the salient comment, even if it wasn’t the politically correct one, Wilson thought. He dreaded what was ahead. He knew there would be a trial, and Timoney would ensure that the audience was entertained. There would be Timoney’s home movies and Wilson hoped the clerk of the court had plenty of sick bags handy for the jury. Yes, Harry was right, it would have saved a lot of time, effort and expense if he had broken Timoney’s skull.
Moira knocked on Wilson’s door before opening it. ‘Mr Cave will be here soon. When he arrives, he wants to speak with his client, and he wants all recording equipment turned off while he and his client consult.’
‘What do good solicitors and sharks have in common?’ Wilson asked.
Moira shook her head. ‘Tell me.’
‘They can both smell blood in the water. The trial of Howard Timoney will attract as much publicity as the recent rugby rape trial. Cave and whatever barrister he engages will be in front of the TV cameras daily. I
t’s the kind of publicity money can’t buy.’
The desk sergeant had informed Wilson of Dermot Cave’s arrival, and asked if someone from Wilson’s squad could please do the honours. Wilson had sent Moira to introduce him to his client.
Minutes later, she returned and stopped at Wilson’s open door. ‘What an arrogant prick.’
‘Did he treat you like something he found on the sole of his shoe?’
‘Something like that.’ She went back to her desk.
Wilson wouldn’t like to be Cave if Moira ever got her nails into him. He continued working on his account of the events of the previous evening. He had written many such reports. Normally they involved a simple reiteration of the facts. Sometimes he tried to put a spin on how events evolved, as he had done for the happenings at the warehouse in Ballymacarrett. The facts were there, but it didn’t happen exactly in the way he wrote it in the report. He was trying to save Browne’s career, but even with the most positive spin, he wasn’t optimistic. The trolls in HQ would look for his blood. The DPP would crap all over them about his unauthorised activity. And although Davis would help with the final draft, there was no way she would jeopardise her own career.
He declined Moira and Harry’s invitation to a cafeteria lunch and worked through. The photos arrived from the forensic team and he sent them to Moira for printing. Finlay had included an MP4 file containing the rapes of Whyte, Carmody and Browne. He asked Moira to put the file on a USB stick.
Just before three o’clock, the word came from the desk that Mr Cave and his client were ready for an interview.
Wilson continued working on his report until the desk sergeant made a second call. He motioned to Moira, and she met him at the squad room door. She handed him a file with the photos from the gravesites and a USB stick.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Wilson and Moira sat opposite Timoney and Cave. The solicitor had his pad and gold pen at the ready. He was wearing an expensive suit and his briefcase had a Gucci logo on it. Dermot Cave didn’t do poor.
‘Mr Cave, good to see you again,’ Wilson lied. ‘I understand that you’ve already met DS McElvaney.’
Cave didn’t look at Moira but nodded.
Wilson opened the file and laid four photos from the gravesite on the table. He stared at Timoney. ‘As I told you already, you are still under caution.’
Timoney looked at Cave, who nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘Good. Is there anything you’d like to tell me about the scene shown in these photographs?’
‘Yes. I killed those two men, and I buried them in my parents’ back garden.’
‘And why did you kill them?’
‘I suppose because I could. Have you ever tried drugs?’
Wilson didn’t answer.
‘The first time gives you an incredible high. That’s what killing does for me. As you can see from the photos, my actions were not those of a rational person. I have a serious psychological condition, which has led me to commit these terrible crimes. I’ve been receiving treatment for my condition since the age of sixteen.’
‘So, you admit that you murdered both Roger Whyte and Vincent Carmody and buried their bodies.’
‘Yes.’
‘Just like that.’
‘Yes. What would you like me to say?’
‘You’ve just admitted that you took the life of two men with the same level of emotion that you might have exhibited if I’d asked what you thought of the weather.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Wilson shook his head. He’d take an old-time criminal any day of the week. ‘How did you choose Mr Whyte?’ Wilson took a photo of Whyte from the file and pushed it across the table.
Timoney looked at the photo. ‘I’d seen him around and knew he liked young flesh. When I noticed him at the Queen’s Film Theatre, I caught him with three words: “Like a date?” I was parked around the corner and I drove him to Hillsborough.’
‘You don’t have a car.’
‘My parents have three.’
‘You drugged him. What did you use?’ The tox screen on Browne was in the file.
‘GHB.’
‘Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid.’
Timoney smiled and nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘And what about Mr Carmody?’ Wilson put a photo of Carmody on the table.
Timoney looked at it. ‘Everybody knew Vinny was a whore. I offered him money for sex and he almost came with excitement.’
‘Did you use GHB on him as well?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you aware that both men were alive when you buried them?’
‘I thought Whyte had died from an overdose. Burying him was a buzz. I knew Vinny was alive when he went in the hole.’
Wilson gathered his photos and replaced them in the file. Looking at Cave, he said, ‘I think we’re done for the moment. We’ll be returning your client to the cells. We need to review the forensic evidence and discuss the future action with the DPP. In the meantime, we’ll be requesting an extension for the full ninety-six hours to facilitate additional questioning.’ Wilson and Moira stood.
‘You think you have me,’ Timoney said.
Cave put his hand on his client’s arm, but Timoney shook him off. ‘With a psychological record like mine, they’ll never convict me of murder; even manslaughter will be difficult to get past a jury. The evidence of the psychiatrists will bamboozle them.’
Wilson ignored him and opened the door. The uniformed officer was standing outside. ‘Bring the prisoner back to the cells.’ He and Moira started back towards the squad room.
‘Detective superintendent.’
Wilson turned. Cave was walking towards them.
‘He’ll never serve a day,’ Cave said when he came level.
‘That’s your opinion,’ Wilson said. ‘I happen to have a little more faith in the justice system.’
‘He’s a very disturbed young man. He is more in need of help than incarceration.’
‘We’re in agreement on the fact that he’s disturbed. But if it were up to me, I’d turn the lock and throw away the key. If he gets out, he’ll kill again and either me or some other poor copper will have to pick up the pieces. And you’ll be nowhere around. But at least I won’t be responsible for the death of another innocent person.’
‘Are you intimating that perhaps I should feel responsible?’
‘I’m intimating nothing. I’ve done my job, and it’s your turn to do yours. Your conscience is your business. See you in court.’ Wilson turned and continued walking.
‘He can’t slide, boss,’ Moira said. ‘We have him bang to rights.’
‘We’ve done our job. Now it’s up to the DPP.’
‘Oh shit, you think he’s right.’
‘One of the first cases I worked on as a DC was Susan Christie. Did you ever hear of her?’
‘No.’
‘Christie befriended her lover’s wife, Penny McAllister, and the two women went for a walk in Drumkerragh National Park in County Down. During that walk, Christie cut Penny’s throat. A woman named Eileen Rice saw Christie coming out of the woods alone. Christie babbled incoherently about an attack by a man in the forest and pleaded with the woman to “help Penny”. An ambulance took Christie to Downe Hospital in Downpatrick, where she repeated her story that a wild bearded man had jumped out of the undergrowth and attacked them with a large knife. He had lunged at Penny and Christie had managed to escape when one of Penny’s dogs began barking and, much more effectively, she’d kneed the stranger in the testicles. It was all bullshit. The husband came forward and we built a watertight case against Christie. When it went to court, Christie claimed that her mind was a total blank about Penny’s death. The jury deliberated for three hours before declaring that they couldn’t reach a verdict. The judge said he would accept a majority verdict, and when the jury returned for the second time they found her not guilty of murder. The judge imposed a five-year sentence, which would have seen Christie serve eighteen month
s. The sentence was increased to nine years on appeal. Christie was out in six. She changed her name, but I still keep an eye on her.’
‘That sucks.’
‘We’re only one branch of the justice system. We do our jobs and we hope the others do their jobs. I need to get out of here. Fancy a trip?’
‘Why not?’
Wilson pulled into the car park at Sunny Days. He and Moira stood and looked across Belfast Lough to Carrickfergus in the distance. It was a beautiful day, not the kind of day on which to tell a mother that her son had been murdered. They stood for several minutes admiring the scene. Wilson turned abruptly and pushed the front door.
The same receptionist was on duty and Wilson showed his warrant card. ‘Mrs. Whyte, please.’
The receptionist was about to raise an objection when she saw the look on his face. She came from behind her desk and led them to the old lady’s room.
Norma Whyte was sitting in her wheelchair facing the window. She was enjoying the view of Belfast Lough.
‘You have visitors,’ the receptionist said and left.
Whyte turned her wheelchair to face her visitors. ‘Detective Superintendent, I’ve been expecting you.’
‘This is Detective Sergeant Moira McElvaney,’ Wilson said. He looked at the old woman’s face. It had only been days since he’d last seen her, but the signs of impending death were already more pronounced.
‘It’s all right, superintendent, I’ve known for some time that my son is dead.’ She looked at Moira. ‘Thank you for coming, dear, but I’ve already cried all my tears for Roger.’
Wilson moved towards her and offered her his hand. ‘I’m sorry and I’d like to offer you condolences on behalf of the PSNI and myself. We found him yesterday. I’d prefer not to go into the details, but he was simply the target of an opportunist. He did nothing wrong. At least now he can have a Christian burial.’
She took his hand and held it in hers. ‘I’ll be seeing him soon. My belief in God and the afterlife is strong. I’m very grateful to you and your colleague for taking the time to come and tell me personally.’
