Her colleagues watched as she closed her lips tightly and assumed her most resolute expression.
Burrows joined in the speculation. “If we are dealing with a member of Security Services personnel who has a personal axe to grind then some aspects of the case become a lot more explicable. There has been a fair amount of strategising and manipulation that you might not get with an ordinary violent assault. Access to cleaning services would also be all part of that service, I imagine.”
“One thing springs to mind in all that,” McVeigh reflected. “Whoever committed the murder is likely to have been quite messed up afterwards. Was it ‘red and grey matter’ the autopsy said? There will have been some personal cleaning up to be done too before the person could face into the public space again.”
“Or,” Paton retorted, “perhaps it was enough to clean superficially and put on a winter coat that would cover any mess long enough to get the person away from the scene. Let’s look closely at the CCTV footage of Hartnett leaving the college on that Thursday evening. What was she wearing? What was she carrying? Might she have had Helen Breen’s bag with her?” Paton was thinking fast and the focus of the chase was narrowing rapidly. Caution was paramount at this stage so as not to mess things up. “We need to be careful about our next moves here. Bill, get the photos of the young Nigel Power to Professor Bell and Tara Donnelly and see if he’s a match for our agent Alan. Get some stills of Hartnett leaving the building that Thursday and let’s see if she had any additional baggage and what she was wearing. I’d say that wouldn’t have been a job she sent out to the dry cleaners. Ian, make a call at home to the retired school principal and see if he remembers what became of Nigel Power. Which Oxford College did he go to and where did he go after that? I wouldn’t mind guessing he was recruited from there to the Security Services and found his way back to home turf. He won’t be a happy chappy if he finds we’re digging into his filming past!”
She paused and tapped the table with her left hand while scrolling through her phone with the other.
“I’ll make a few calls to caution those that Alan may have issue with for helping our investigation, in case he decides to go visiting. I don’t think he’s a very pleasant character and obviously used to blurring the lines of demarcation around what is legitimate information-gathering and what is playing big-boy spy games.” Her brow furrowed. “Alice Fox, for example, may well be on his radar. I need to let her know that she needs to be very cautious of strange men. I’ve asked the Super to clear a path for us into Holywood Barracks where our spook will undoubtedly be based. There was a time when spying and gathering anti-terrorism information was placed ahead of solving a crime, in terms of priority. Placed ahead of safeguarding life itself.” Paton paused to consider the shocking reality of what she had said. “That is no longer the case and there will be no protection offered to a member of the Security Services that has choreographed and colluded in a murder. Not on my watch.” She studied the table in front of her for several moments and then met the watchful gaze of her colleagues.
They all knew how fragile these new policing values were in practice. Many of the old guard had been reemployed after accepting generous early retirement packages and their influence hadn’t altogether gone away.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to renege on the early night, team, but I think I will be able to make it up to you sooner rather than later.”
There was no complaint as Burrows and McVeigh savoured these last stages of the hunt as much as Paton did.
“Bill, check if the warrant I asked you to apply for, when I phoned earlier, has arrived. If not get the desk sergeant onto hassling for it pronto. We’ll take an hour or so to get organised in terms of the ID on Power and Hartnett’s outfit and baggage when leaving the building that night. I’ll need colour copies of those images for the search team. I will take a driver and three uniforms and go and bring in Hartnett. I’ll leave three guys behind to search the Baldwin place. We may even find some vintage memorabilia in Daddy’s attic. Bill, call in a discreet armed unit and you and Ian head to Holywood and see if Agent Alan would like to come in for a chat. We’ll talk to Mr Baldwin too but that will keep. Let’s deal with the murder first. I am happy for him to stew until tomorrow and take care of his poor unsuspecting grandson. Back here for nine o’clock and ready to roll.”
43
When Caroline Paton dropped her off after the trip across the border, Alice felt unusually drained of energy. Aside from work and family she had become used to a fairly solitary life and her recent level of activity had been quite hectic. On Botanic Avenue she stopped to collect the makings of an evening meal, including a good bottle of wine from the off-license near her house.
She was concerned about Tara and phoned her as soon as she got home to check she was still feeling positive about sharing her history. They talked for a while about the Helen Breen case and then their common academic interests until Alice was sure her friend was feeling no ill effects from her disclosure. She promised to phone Tara later that week and update her on the investigation. Perhaps some good would even come of all this. She was tempted to call Mairéad Walsh too but thought it best to leave it until Monday and catch up with her in work.
It was before nine when Alice decided that what she needed was a run and got out her head torch and checked the batteries. She knew the route well from early morning runs in all weathers and could navigate the less well-lighted parts of the terrain with ease. The rain that had been ever-present through the day was easing off now. The exercise would help settle her mind and stop her speculating about what was happening in the Grosvenor Road Barracks. Had they closed in on the killer? She was sure she would find out soon enough. She changed into her running gear, did some stretches and headed for the river. The initial terrain was urban and quite populated. She passed the university sport’s centre and the riverbank Lyric Theatre and then on along through a residential enclave towards the beginning of the towpath. The various boat clubs were closed up and in darkness but the nearby bar and tennis club were brightly lit and busy with early evening drinkers making no effort to control their volume.
Once onto the towpath she switched on her head torch and settled into her easy running pace. At the outset there were a few straggling walkers but the path was mostly clear. She ran, rather than jogged, enjoying the speed and the way her body coordinated to produce a comfortable, rhythmic pace.
Relaxing into the motion, she was relishing feeling the stresses of the day dissipate when her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. It was probably someone from home hoping to catch her for a chat. There would be a message and she would return the call when she got back. She vaguely considered that it might be Caroline Paton but was too invested in her exercise now to consider stopping.
The sense of running into the tunnel of darkness ahead was one that Alice found both symbolic and exhilarating. She enjoyed the idea that her headlight just gave her enough visibility into the path in front of her to allow her not to stumble over the immediate unknown. She was absolutely obliged to stay in the moment. Around her, the night sounds changed from urban to rural. The river flowed calmly and quietly producing only the faintest lapping sounds as it met the bank or some overhanging boughs. An occasional night bird called through the darkness. The earlier eeriness of Ravensdale Forest revisited her fleetingly and she shook her head slightly to dislodge the notion, creating a dramatic rush of shadows with her headgear. A flutter of fear threatened her sense of calm but was gone in an instant.
Further ahead she heard the traffic of the motorway where it crossed the towpath and she slowed slightly. Occasionally after rain there was a mucky pool of water gathered where the path crossed beneath the low bridge and it was best not to get wet feet. The passing overhead traffic produced successive waves of moving bright lights and the accompanying sound of rubber on the damp road surface.
Ahead, under the dimly lit concrete subway a fleeting movement caught her eye and a figure stepped into her pa
th, clearly intent on blocking her way. His outline was distorted by the shifting shadows and loomed larger than life across the path before her.
Alice stopped, breathing fast but fully alert to what was happening. She gauged the distance to the man, his height, weight and level of fitness. He was similar in height to her and more strongly built but Tae Kwon Do was about agility and focus more than brute strength.
She kept her headlight fixed on his eyes, watchful for a movement that would signify some more active intent. She knew about patience and could wait for him to blink. If she was right and this was Tara Donnelly’s spook then she was sure he would be armed. His hands were in his pockets, which was not a good sign so she mentally prepared for the appearance of a weapon. Again she slowed her breathing and waited. In her head she was poised to block any move he made but she could tell by his composure that he wasn’t going to make this easy. He was evidently enjoying himself.
“Well, well, well, Dr Fox! I’d have thought you would have had enough excitement for one day. Out gallivanting with the murder squad and then having lunch with the lovely Tara. I was going to call on you at home but then I saw you heading out for your run and decided to meet up al fresco instead.”
His voice was strangely soft and sonorous, his accent more BBC than Belfast. After he spoke his top lip contorted upwards towards the left in a silent snarl and his dark eyes widened as he continued. His control began to slip into anger and Alice knew that would eventually lead him to make a crucial error. Her concentration was unwavering as he began to raise his voice.
“I have just about had it with smart-assed bitches messing with my business. First there was Helen Breen sticking her nose into affairs that didn’t concern her and threatening to use the follies of youth against respectable citizens like Professor Hartnett and myself. The nerve of her when you consider how she got her own kicks! And now there’s you mixing with bad company in West Belfast and pointing DI Paton in directions she might never have figured out for herself. You have made me very angry, Alice Fox. Very angry indeed.”
Alice merely raised her eyebrows and said nothing.
With a leer, he produced a number of cable ties from his left pocket and waved them tauntingly. “It would be such a shame if you were to fall and hurt yourself out here away from anybody. Who knows when you’d be found?”
He moved towards her and then the flash of hard metal caught her eye as he pulled the gun from his right-hand pocket. She responded with such speed and agility that he barely had time to change his facial expression from smug to horrified. All in a split second, Alice crouched to create momentum and with full force kicked his weapon arm sharply backwards. The pistol flew in a high arc and splashed quietly into the river. As he struggled to regain his lost balance, she followed through with a double-front kick that made high contact with his jaw and a secondary lower flick that connected directly with his groin. His face was frozen in an expression of pain and disbelief but Alice had one move left to complete his demise. Before he could even begin to collapse, she fell to the ground on her left hip and with a lightning extension of her right leg, delivered a sharp blow to the man’s knee. Then he crumpled. The initial high kick had produced a cracking sound from his jaw and Alice was sure he wouldn’t be talking so freely in the near future. She effortlessly stood up to her full height, still feeling calm and watchful.
“Fucking bitch …” He slavered as he discovered the full extent of the damage to his jaw. From his position on the ground, he moved his hand awkwardly towards his inside pocket but he was too slow and Alice wasted no time in jumping with her full weight on his splayed fingers. There was a cracking sound followed by some more growled expletives.
Alice gathered up the plastic cable ties that had fallen beside him. A rusted metal ring was set into the original towpath wall and she quickly attached each clammy hand of the now groaning body securely to the ring.
“I guess it’s you who’ll be hanging around hoping to be found before the chill sets in, dick!”
She checked his pockets and removed his second handgun, mobile phone and car keys. There was a pathway to the right of the motorway bridge that she reckoned led to the road where he must have parked in order to intercept her.
On her way to the car Alice took out her phone and dialled Caroline Paton’s number. The detective answered almost immediately.
“Did you get my message then?” Caroline said.
“I did not,” said Alice, “but if you were calling to warn me about a nasty guy who might be out to get me, I’ve just met him and I didn’t like him one little bit!”
Caroline was on her way to Crawfordsburn to collect Janet Hartnett. Alice gave her location and Caroline said she would redirect Burrows and McVeigh to go and collect her and her ‘assailant’.
Alice laughed loudly at that, but Caroline had already hung up.
44
What began as a complicated operation for DI Caroline Paton became surprisingly simple. On their arrival at her Crawfordsburn home, Professor Janet Hartnett met Caroline and her support team with cool disdain. They were finishing their evening meal, she explained at the door and Saturday evening was not a convenient time to talk. Perhaps they would like to make an appointment for Monday during office hours?
Caroline Paton maintained her dignity and explained that this was more than a casual visit and suggested that their business might be better completed inside the house rather than publicly on the doorstep. Her message hit home and they were admitted without further fuss.
Hartnett was sitting at the kitchen table with her son and her parents, all of whom were visibly surprised by the entry of DI Paton and four uniformed police officers. Mr Baldwin stood immediately and declared his outrage at the interruption to their evening. He announced pompously that it was his intention to phone the Detective Superintendent immediately and stop this invasion of privacy.
For a brief moment Caroline regretted that the language of human rights could be deployed so casually by people these days but pulled back and responded courteously.
“I think that would be ill-judged, Mr Baldwin. I have here a search warrant requested earlier today by Detective Superintendent Graham McCluskey and authorised by the duty magistrate. I am not sure that your opinion on the matter would be well received by DS McCluskey on his Saturday evening off.” She fixed him with her most chilling stare. “Professor Hartnett, I will need you to accompany me to the station for questioning in relation to the killing of Dr. Helen Breen. My colleagues will remain here to search these premises. Mr and Mrs Baldwin, I would like to confirm that you will take responsibility for the care of your grandson so that he is not unduly discommoded by the presence of my officers.”
They nodded halfheartedly, obviously shocked by the sudden turn of events and the upheaval in their solid middle-class existence. Mrs Baldwin’s bottom lip was quivering and she looked appealingly towards her husband for some way to stop the slide further into this nightmare. For his part, Mr Baldwin appeared frozen and helpless, all bluster gone now as he looked towards his grandson who was making deep indentations on the tablecloth with his fork.
Janet Hartnett tried hard to maintain her cool exterior but she was clearly shaken and made it apparent to her family that she thought it best to comply with the request to go with Paton and her driver. The three remaining officers set about their search while the family remained seated at the kitchen table. The uniformed officers had been briefed to gather all electronic devices as well as any old papers or video material that might be in an attic or garage. In particular they were to collect Professor Hartnett’s red carry-on luggage and her black woollen coat with the hood, both of which were identified on the CCTV footage the night that Helen Breen was killed.
Paton could see that Mr Baldwin was convulsed with rage and his wife would undoubtedly bear the brunt of any care work there was to be done that evening. He would be even less pleased when she questioned him the next day about his knowledge of the image of his daughter
that Helen Breen had kept hidden all those years.
Driving back to the city, Burrows called to say that they too were on their way back to the station. He was bringing Alice Fox so that she could make a statement and had called the on-duty doctor to check if Power required immediate hospital treatment for a suspected broken jaw and a groin and knee injury.
Earlier in the evening, both Bell and Tara Donnelly had recognised Power from the image sent to them and Paton was confident that Hartnett would make a full confession and incriminate him as a prime accessory to murder. She made sure during the phone call to mention Nigel Power by name and observed the impact on Hartnett through the rear-view mirror. Behind the fragile composure it was obvious that she realised that the game was up.
Burrows and McVeigh had found Nigel Powers attached to the metal ring under the motorway bridge, alternately moaning and swearing profusely. Earlier reports from MI5 had made it clear that he was not operating officially in any matter to do with the death of Helen Breen. She may well have been a threat to the stability of his newly recruited source, but this no longer allowed him a licence to kill, or support the concealment of a murder. There would be no intercession on his behalf from Security Services in this matter.
Nigel Power, alias Agent Alan, had more or less given himself up in the wake of his encounter with Alice Fox. After an initial show of bravado, when he heard that he would receive no protection from his employer he became suddenly docile. His superiors had confirmed that he was known in the Service as a loose cannon who had developed bad habits when the imperative to get intelligence had been more urgent. Now that the pressures of information-gathering had diminished in Northern Ireland, he was under less rigorous scrutiny and had evidently gone rogue. Attention in global intelligence- gathering had moved to Islamic fundamentalists and cyber criminality and Northern Ireland and its small numbers of dissidents was much lower down the agenda. Unfortunately, this had left him scope to indulge his nostalgia for intrigue and sadistic power games. Burrows had a mixed response to this information. He wondered how Power’s skills could have become so discredited when they were evidently essential to his role in previous times. However, he recognised that this time the bias was falling in their favour and so accepted it quietly.
Murder In The Academy : A chilling murder mystery set in Belfast (Alice Fox Murder Mysteries Book 1) Page 24
