The Sect (The Craig Crime Series)

by Catriona King

  “That’ll ruin your good looks.”

  Nicky’s mouth opened and closed in surprise. She recovered quickly.

  “D.C.I. Angel is here to see you.”

  It was on the tip of Craig’s tongue to say ‘send him in’ then he changed his mind and beckoned Liam to follow him to where Angel was sitting by Carmen’s desk. As they approached, Liam whispered loudly.

  “He’s at it again. Watch this.”

  ‘At it’ meant that Andy Angel was doing what he did when he met any woman whom he considered of datable age; he was hitting on her hard. But Carmen McGregor wasn’t a woman to be trifled with, not even when she was in a good mood, and she’d only had two of those confirmed since she’d joined the squad the summer before. Liam gestured Craig to hang back and they stood by Nicky’s desk watching things unfold.

  Angel was lounging elegantly on a hard backed chair, something even Liam couldn’t manage despite practicing for years. His short, boyish frame was clothed in drainpipe trousers and a soft white shirt that they knew must have cost him a hundred pounds. Paired with a string tie the effect was either modern boy band or a throwback to the Mods, depending on your age; testament to there being nothing new in the fashion world.

  They watched as the D.C.I. smoothed back his gelled blond hair and Liam was certain he’d spotted two holes in his ear; all very trendy except that Carmen was a traditional Scottish girl who preferred her shortbread plain. When her Edinburgh lilt hit the air it was as hard as ice.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Chief Inspector Angel?”

  Andy leaned forward, placing an elbow on her desk. Craig expected a klaxon to sound marking the infringement, but instead Carmen’s eyes narrowed and she pushed the offending limb off, resulting in Angel’s elbow hitting his knee. His mouth opened in shock then shut again hastily when he saw her squint. Undeterred, he regrouped for a fresh assault.

  “I was wondering if you knew of any good restaurants. For dinner this evening perhaps?”

  His voice was deep, not as deep as Liam’s bass but then only a bassoon compared with that, but deep nonetheless. But instead of the dark chocolate tone that he was aiming for, his chat up line emerged like an oil slick and if the technique had ever worked for him it definitely wasn’t working now. Carmen turned her back dismissively and waved in the direction of team analyst Davy Walsh’s desk.

  “Davy knows about that sort of thing.”

  Davy was as genuinely cool as Andy was failing to be; the fact he had twelve years and six inches advantage on the detective probably helped. But Andrew Jefferson Airplane Angel (his parents had been hippies in their youth) had the thick skin and perseverance that developed from growing up with an unusual name, so he ignored Carmen’s dismissal and rose slowly, shifting deliberately into her line of sight. Carmen rose as well and Craig saw a fight brewing that he knew she would win but her rank would ultimately make her lose. It was time to intervene.

  As Carmen opened her mouth he strode across to Andy and extended a hand.

  “Hi, Andy, glad to have you on board. I can’t see you now unfortunately; Liam and I have somewhere to be. Could you come back for the briefing at five?”

  It was on the tip of Angel’s tongue to say ‘I’ll wait’ when Craig propelled him smoothly towards the door. As the three men walked to the lift he continued. “I see you’ve met D.C. McGregor. Good officer. You’ll meet Captain Smith, her partner, later on.”

  Andy looked surprised. “You pair your officers for cases?”

  Craig laughed as if it was his mistake. “Sorry, no. I meant her partner in real life. Ken Smith’s an army Captain seconded to us till July. Good man, not long returned from Afghanistan.”

  If he’d said Ken had bench-pressed seven hundred pounds the effect couldn’t have been any more startling. Andy’s eyes widened wildly and Liam’s knowing nod reinforced that he’d just had a narrow escape. Andy wasn’t to know that Ken wouldn’t have hurt a fly and Carmen was the one that he really needed to watch. By the time they’d reached the fifth floor the message had sunk in and Craig and Liam disembarked, leaving Andy to look elsewhere for his next date.

  Craig turned briskly back to the case. “We’ll try Gangs first and then take a trip to Vice. One of them will know where the traffickers in Belfast hang out.”

  ****

  The Lab.

  Mike Augustus shook his head as he examined the dead youth, lifting his right arm and scrutinising the black tattoo that ran from axilla to tip. The words inscribed there were unusual in two ways; first, they formed a phrase that he couldn’t understand, and second their position had rendered them invisible while the boy’s arm lay by his side but formed a bannered declaration when it was held aloft. He set the limb back in position and continued with the rest of the P.M.

  The cause of death was definitely recent drowning, the boy’s hair had still been damp when his cling-film was removed; but there was little else to find, just a body tattooed with an unknown phrase and possibly, but only possibly, the faint sniff of something else. Before committing himself to anything on the record he called John from his office to take a look. Five minutes later the pathologists were agreed, but what their findings meant could be open to debate. Would be, if Craig’s five p.m. briefing was the same as they usually were.

  John stared down at the youth for a moment then beckoned Augustus to the girl’s corpse. He withdrew the sheet, examining her for the same things that they’d found on the boy. There, in the crease beneath her breasts, were tattooed exactly the same words.

  John tutted loudly. “I can’t believe I missed that.” It was on the tip of Mike’s tongue to say ‘neither can I’ then he decided against criticizing his boss and let him off the hook.

  “It’s tiny and it’s in white ink. You can barely see it against her skin. We can only see it now because we know what to look for.”

  John wasn’t comforted but it was actually true. Where the boy’s phrase had been writ large and dark the girl’s was small and pale.

  “Do you recognise it?”

  “The phrase?” Mike shook his mid-brown head. “No. But it looks old.”

  John photographed the words then turned to Augustus’ tentative second discovery. After examining the woman’s corpse thoroughly he shook his head.

  “I can’t find any sign of it on her, can you?”

  “No.” The junior pathologist thought for a moment and then had an idea. “If they have the same tattoo, perhaps we should list any other similarities between them.”

  John smiled. Mike was good and getting better, pretty soon he’d be ready to run his own team.

  “Excellent idea.”

  They set the trollies side by side and began.

  ****

  As they entered the C.C.U.’s fifth floor Craig smiled at the sight of Susan Butler sitting behind its reception desk. Gone was the sad, beige matron who’d worked for his old boss Terry Harrison, to be replaced by an invigorated woman who looked younger than her years. In place of the stiff grey hairstyle she’d once worn there was a newly tinted bob, and where beige skirt suits had been the order of the day, there were now chic trousers and colourful shirts.

  She greeted the detectives cheerfully and Craig’s pleasure at her obvious happiness was doubled by the knowledge that by finding her a new job he’d screwed over the man who’d kept her down for years, D.C.S. Terry ‘Teflon’ Harrison. It couldn’t have been more deserved.

  She showed them into Geoff Hamill’s office and after a minute of Liam insulting Hamill’s short stature and Hamill insulting back, the Head of Gang Crime removed a thick file from his drawer and set it on the desk.

  “Right. People trafficking.”

  Hamill’s small eyes darted down the contents page then he turned it over, repeating the action with the page below. Liam finally broke the silence.

  “Lovely and all as it is to watch you reading, Geoff, do you have anything useful for us or not?”

  Hamill gave Craig a pitying look.
“How do you put up with him?”

  “He’s useful in a fight.” Craig gestured at the file. “Anything for us?”

  Hamill’s face said that he wasn’t sure. “Yes and no. There are two gangs running brothels in Northern Ireland; one’s Chinese, but the Chinese tend to stick with their own, and one comes from Albania. They have forty houses between them.”

  Craig’s eyes widened. He wasn’t naïve; after working in London for years it would have been hard, but he had to admit to being surprised at so many brothels in such a small place.

  “Just how big is the sex trade here?”

  “Open or underground?”

  “Either. Both.”

  Hamill shrugged like a defeated man. “Growing every day.”

  “Surely demand can’t be that strong?”

  Liam had only been half listening but now he roused himself. “Did you come up the Lagan in a bubble, boss? Check out craigslist for Belfast and that’ll show you what goes on here.” Suddenly he burst out laughing. “I’ve just realised. Craigslist – and you’re Craig! Get it? Have you been double jobbing?”

  Craig raised an eyebrow. “I’ll leave that to the MLAs.” He waved Hamill on.

  “OK, so your girl might have been trafficked by the Albanians, but if she was…”

  “Why would they kill a valuable asset?”

  “Exactly. Once they’ve got the girls here and hooked them on drugs they work them till they’re thirty. If they’re still alive after that they usually just throw them out.”

  “Charmers.”

  “Not even their mothers would call them that.” Hamill warmed to his theme. “They target girls from small villages in Eastern Europe who are desperate to leave, and entice them to the UK with fictional jobs as nannies or hotel workers. Or they find girls whose parents want rid of them for whatever reason, in which case they pay the families a small amount, smuggle the girls in, take their passports and make them work for nothing until they’ve paid back their debt.”

  “Which, with high interest rates, they never do.”

  Hamill nodded. “Never, and everyone agrees it’s disgusting, but they don’t kill their assets. Not unless your girl was really out of control and then the favoured murder weapon would have been a gun or a knife. They wouldn’t have wasted their time drowning her and wrapping her up.”

  “Can you help us at all?”

  Hamill shrugged. “I can ask around and see when or if she was brought in. Leave it with me. But if she was a hooker your best source could be Vice.”

  “Next stop.” Craig rose and headed for the door. “Thanks, Geoff. We’d be grateful for anything you can find.”

  He turned to see where Liam was, only to find him placing the file on the highest shelf in the room. By the time Hamill had noticed they were at the lift.

  ****

  “Agggghhh.”

  Nicky glanced up from filing her nails to see where the noise was coming from. It was emanating from Annette’s cubicle and was followed by a sigh of such despair that she grudgingly set down her emery board and went to see what was up. As she approached she gave a warning.

  “This had better be worth me getting up. I’d just got comfortable.”

  Annette’s glossy blow-dry appeared above her PC. “Define worth it.”

  “Someone had better be dying, or at least in pain.”

  “Then I qualify. Joanne Greer’s appeal is killing me. Every time I think I’ve covered every question the prosecution service want answered they hand me another bloody list! Greer killed two people for heaven’s sake and tried to kill more; what more proof do they want?”

  Nicky’s expression said it wasn’t that clear cut and Annette conceded.

  “Oh, OK then, so she didn’t actually pull the trigger. But she and her Russian boyfriend paid someone else to do it, which is practically the same thing. I’m so sick of villains only having to find one mistake to wriggle out of their convictions, when our case has to be watertight to even get them to court!”

  Nicky was about to sympathise when a more logical voice entered the fray.

  “Innocent until proven guilty. The burden of proof is on us.”

  They swung round to see who’d uttered such sacrilege, only to see Davy’s youthful face grinning back.

  Davy Walsh had been the team’s analyst since 2012, but apart from growing a few inches and developing some muscles he never seemed to change. He still looked twenty even though he was now twenty-eight and he still blushed shyly at some things, even when he’d heard them a hundred times before. In fact the only things that had altered in three years were that his stammer had diminished to just the occasional ‘s’ or ‘w’ and he’d developed a noticeable cheeky streak.

  Annette’s retort was sharp. “Don’t push it, Davy. I’m not in the mood.”

  Nicky had been about to say the same thing so she scrambled quickly for something else. “And… and you won’t get any more coffee.”

  Davy lifted the thermos mug he’d brought in that morning and drained its contents with an exaggerated slurp before continuing defiantly.

  “All I’m saying is that the justice system is w…weighted on the side of the accused, and so it should be.”

  Nicky moved towards him ominously. “Because you think it’s worse for one innocent man to be wrongly convicted than for one hundred guilty ones to get away!”

  He made a face. “When you say it like that it doesn’t sound quite right.”

  Annette cut the debate short. “Fascinating as this discourse on criminal justice is, I need to get on with my list or the P.P.S. will be after me.”

  Just then Nicky’s phone rang and she went to pick it up. “Murder Squad.”

  It was Craig.

  “Oh, hello, sir. What do you need?”

  It was the tip of Craig’s tongue to say ‘perhaps I just called to say hello’ but he dismissed the idea immediately. She was right; he always needed something.

  “Could you ask Carmen to join us in Vice, please.”

  Without covering the receiver Nicky yelled across the floor.

  “CARMEN, THE BOSS WANTS YOU ON THE SEVENTH FLOOR. NOW.”

  Craig winced. Nicky’s voice was louder than a Docker’s in normal conversation; when she yelled it made his ears ring. Two minutes later Carmen entered Aidan Hughes’ small office, crowding the already full room. Craig gave up his seat, motioning Hughes to carry on.

  “As I was saying. The main gang here is Albanian. They bring in the girls through the South and ship them across the border in vans. After a day or two persuading them to cooperate they get divided between the brothels in Belfast and beyond––”

  Liam interrupted. “Do you have a list of the houses?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why not just raid them and free the girls?”

  Hughes shook his head. “It’s not that simple; we’ve tried. When we raid them they just regroup and traffick more, so we’re working with Interpol to cut them off at both ends. If we can get the recruiting gangs, traffickers and brothel owners all at once then we can make a clean sweep, but if word leaks out anywhere along the chain they’ll pack up and the girls will never be seen again.”

  Carmen had been listening in silence, wondering why she was there and worrying that it signalled her transfer back to Vice. She’d been difficult with Craig since she’d joined his team so she wouldn’t blame him if he wanted rid of her, but she really didn’t want to leave; she was just starting to feel at home in the Murder Squad. She smiled at Craig more pleasantly than she ever did anything.

  “How can I help, sir?”

  Liam jerked upright in shock; her tone had verged on submissive and that meant she was up to something. Craig heard the tone too but he recognised it for what it was; fear of being returned to Hughes’ team.

  “I’m glad you asked, Carmen. Two dead bodies have been found and we believe the first one, a girl in her late teens, may have been a prostitute, possibly Eastern European. She might have been trafficked
and as you’ve worked in Vice I’d like you to act as our liaison and help get us an I.D.”

  Carmen smiled as quickly as Aidan Hughes frowned. He knew her of old and he wasn’t keen to renew the acquaintance. He cut in hastily.

  “We’re fine to work it ourselves, Marc.”

  Craig shook his head, remembering how keen Hughes had been to have Carmen transferred from Vice to Murder, selling her to Liam as some sort of golden girl. Revenge, in the form of Carmen as liaison, was sweet.

  “I wouldn’t hear of it, Aidan; you have your own work to do. Carmen knows how you operate and the sooner she starts the sooner we can let this girl’s family know that she’s dead. ” He turned to the petite Scot. “Make a start now, please, and then join us for the briefing at five. Doctor Winter has the girl’s details.”

  As he opened the door Liam was certain he saw Craig grin.

  “Don’t worry, Aidan. Just leave Carmen to get on with it quietly. She won’t be any trouble.”

  Everybody in the room knew it was a lie.

  ****

  As Craig went to press the button for the tenth floor, Liam whimpered, halting his finger in mid-air.

  “I take it from that noise you’re hungry?”

  The D.C.I.’s doleful eyes said yes.

  “OK, if you promise to stop looking like one of those big-eyed paintings, we’ll go over to The James for lunch. Give the others a call.”

  “Margaret Keane.”

  “Who?”

  “She does all that big-eyed stuff.”

  Craig shot him a look that made Liam bluster out a defence.

  “Danni likes them.”

  “Danni? Yeh, of course.”

  As they crossed Barrow Square in the sunshine Liam called the office, while Craig gazed longingly at the river as they passed.

  “The Tall Ships are coming again in July.”

  Liam nodded vaguely and ended his call. He’d never understood Craig’s obsession with water but he humoured him with a question all the same.