The Sect (The Craig Crime Series)

by Catriona King

  Natalie cut in quickly. “John’s too busy to see anyone, and how do you know Marc’s name?”

  Sofia ignored her again and before Katy could say anything more she was on her feet. “This Marc seems to be the person I should speak to. Tell me, exactly where does he work?”

  “They’re based in Pilot Street, in the Docklands. Tall building, you can’t miss it. Would you like the exact address?”

  The psychiatrist smiled distantly, reserving a much colder smile for Natalie. “Not to worry. I can find it. Thank you so much, Katy.”

  With that she swivelled on her perfect heels and undulated out of the canteen, followed by the gaze of every man in the place. Katy took a sip of tea and turned back to her notepad, oblivious to what had just occurred.

  “So, how am I supposed to exclude pretty women from the party, and isn’t that a bit cruel?”

  Natalie didn’t answer. She was too busy glaring after the witch who was so obviously after her friend’s man.

  Chapter Ten

  The Lab. 3 p.m.

  It was almost three when Craig reached the lab and he was surprised to see John and Des exiting as he approached the building’s main doors.

  “Off somewhere?”

  “It’s called lunch. We’re allowed it at the weekend.”

  The tone was sarcastic, unusual for John.

  “What’s eating you?”

  Des intervened before the chance encounter turned into a fight. “Nothing that you’ve done, Marc.” He made a face. “Stormont’s sent another memo ordering budget cuts. We’re skin and bone as it is.”

  Craig glanced at his substantial girth but decided against making a quip.

  The scientist sighed dramatically and continued. “You’d think that they’d give us some peace at a weekend. Especially with their election only five weeks away.”

  John sniffed derisively. “Too sure of their bloody seats, that’s the problem. I should run for election and give them all a scare.”

  That one definitely required a pass so Craig turned back towards the car park, walking along with the two men. John raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re joining us?”

  “Even cops have to eat. I’ll buy as you obviously don’t have any money.”

  Forty minutes of moaning and eating later, during which time John and Des slagged off every politician in Stormont’s Assembly as useless, something Craig had no problem agreeing with, they’d identified cuts that wouldn’t impact on the lab’s front line services but included no coffee and limited toilet roll for the coming year.

  “I’ll bulk buy toilet roll if you get the coffee.”

  “Deal.”

  Craig chipped in with a year’s supply of decent biscuits and they had Northern Ireland’s budget crisis solved. He wondered aloud how much Parliament Buildings spent on refreshments for MLAs and the moaning started again. By four o’clock they were ready to head back and John was sufficiently mollified to ask what Craig had come to see them about.

  “It can wait till we get to the lab.”

  “And I make the last coffee the government will ever pay for.”

  Ten minutes later they were in his office and Craig was outlining why he’d come. He turned to Des first.

  “Anything more on the print you found?”

  Des brushed some crumbs off his beard and shook his head. “It’s not on any database that Davy or I can find.”

  As he squinted down, searching for more errant food, Craig was tempted to ask why, if his facial hair caused him such problems, he didn’t just shave it off. He’d done it before and it had made him look years younger. He’d grown a beard once but Lucia had said it’d made him look deranged.

  Des returned to his point. “I found a second print on one of the other victim’s cling-film. Both were right thumbs.” He raised a hand, pre-empting Craig’s request. “It’s been with Davy since this morning.”

  Craig sat forward eagerly. “So a different owner.”

  “Definitely. I can confirm that you have at least two killers and by the size of the prints both of them were men.”

  It was something.

  Craig tested the theory. “Couldn’t one be a woman with large hands?”

  Des shook his head as John topped up their cups. “Most times I’d say that was possible, but this time no way.” He held up his hand. “I take a size eleven glove and one of the prints I found was bigger than any of mine; the other was as large.” He took a gulp of coffee. “You definitely have two men, both big.”

  It gave credence to their victims being carried to the scenes. Craig turned to John, readying to ask a different question when Des spoke again.

  “Don’t you want to know what else I found?”

  Craig nodded him on.

  “Your three victims’ stomach contents had an identical chemical composition, and before you ask, no I can’t say what it was yet, but it was fully digested which means they’d all eaten around three to four hours before death. Any longer than that and it would have passed into the small intestine.”

  Craig said nothing; his mind was busy racing with possibilities. John voiced his as quickly as they came.

  “Part of some sort of ritual? Maybe it was poison or sedation?”

  Des shook his head. “There was no sign of poisons or sedatives in their systems; in fact, the only one with any chemicals on board was the girl.” He thought for a moment before adding. “As far as a ritual goes, I suppose with the tattooing that’s always a possibility, but not one that wears a forensic tag so you’ll have to chase it up yourself. Oh, by the way, your tattoo ink was just the usual stuff, nothing special to identify where it was purchased from. Sorry.”

  John looked disappointed but Craig wasn’t. He’d learned something from his visit and with any luck the stomach contents would tell them more.

  “Send me the chemical composition of the stomach contents, please.”

  John asked first. “You have an idea?”

  “I have a couple at the moment. In fact I wanted to ask you about the second one. Have you had any other drownings recently? Young people in particular.”

  John frowned; the question rang a bell.

  “There was one about a month ago but it wasn’t like your case. A teenage girl was found in the Quoile, washed up near the yacht club.”

  Craig’s eyes widened. It had been a long shot and it might turn out to be nothing, but…

  John was still talking. “But she had none of the markers you’re looking for. No tattoo, no cling-film and the water in her lungs was river water––”

  Craig cut in. “Do you know where from in the Quoile, exactly?”

  John shook his head. “Sorry, it wasn’t examined. There was no need. The algae was clearly visible and she was found washed up on the river bank, so––”

  “Everyone assumed that she’d just fallen into the river nearby and drowned.”

  John’s jaw dropped. “And you think––”

  “I think that if you still have her lung and stomach contents Des should examine them and tell me what you find.”

  ****

  As Liam and Andy drove towards the Demesne Estate Liam wondered idly about the collective term for D.C.I.s. Two of them were probably just a pair, but what about three or four? A Badge? A Baton? As he thought of appropriate collective nouns Andy’s thoughts were on something far more basic; women, or rather his lack of one. Anyone reading their minds would have been shocked to learn that Liam was no longer the least PC member of Craig’s team.

  Andy’s last relationship had ended a year before and he was afraid that if he didn’t date someone soon he might lose his touch. He’d just concluded that such an idea was preposterous when Liam indicated left, taking them away from Sarah Beech’s home. Andy stuck his pointed finger under Liam’s nose, risking a nasty death.

  “The Beech’s flat’s that way.”

  Liam shoved his hand away without answering, his rationale becoming clear a moment later when they pulled up outs
ide the brick building that housed the branch police station on the estate. It said everything about the Demesne Estate that it needed one.

  Reggie Boyd had already been briefed on the case but Liam wanted to discuss Sam Beech with him in person. They were heading inside just as the uniformed figure of Sergeant Reginald Boyd appeared at the front door. The plus sized men greeted each other with a respect born of years on the job.

  “Well hello, Dumbo. To what do I owe this honour?”

  Liam guffawed. “Came to see the shambles you’re making of the place.”

  The exchange was accompanied by slapped backs and offers of tea, while Andy trailed in their wake like a small child. Five minutes later, with the niceties over, Reggie cut to the chase.

  “You want to know about Sarah Beech and the boy.” He produced a file an inch thick. “It’ll take a while.”

  Liam’s eyes widened. “That’s all hers?”

  “Hers, her men’s and the boy’s. Just your typical Demesne extended family.” He flicked open the file but it was clear the action was unnecessary; he knew its contents by heart.

  “Sarah, known as Sadie, Beech. First encounter with us was when she was fifteen, for shoplifting. She moved on to petty theft, credit card scams and then graduated to benefit fraud in ninety-six. She did ten months in Wharf House and she’s been clean ever since. However…” He turned to a section marked in blue. “When it comes to her choice of boyfriends, there’s nothing clean about it. She’s dated most of the scumbags on the estate and a few from further afield.”

  Liam interrupted. “Who’s the boy’s father?”

  Reggie shrugged. “Your guess is probably as good as hers. It says father unknown on the certificate.”

  Andy interjected. “Great start in life.”

  “Quite. Anyway, our Sadie comes across as sugar and spice when you meet her, but her choice of companions tells a very different tale. Addicts, thieves, one banged up for GBH––”

  Liam interrupted. “Who was the one forced to leave the home?”

  Reggie nodded; less in acknowledgement than in an impersonation of a hangman.

  “Jim Upton. A class A scrote. One of those ones who make you want to scrub yourself after you meet.”

  “Did he hit the boy?”

  “Probably. And more besides. It had to have been bad for Sadie to chuck him out. We couldn’t prove anything but the word was he abused the kid, and I don’t mean with the odd slap.”

  Andy nodded. “A nonce.”

  “That’s one word for it. Pervert’s the one I’d use.”

  Liam cut in. “Where’s Upton now?”

  Reggie gulped down a mouthful of tea.

  “Don’t know and I don’t care. Every district has his description and if he rears his ugly mug he’ll get lifted for questioning. The real problem is what he left behind.”

  “She went off the rails?”

  Boyd snorted in derision. “Sadie’s been off the rails since she could walk. I was talking about the boy.”

  “OK. How?”

  “He was a good lad before Upton, then he started bullying kids at the youth club.” And at school. “Always the younger ones. Boys. He didn’t seem interested in the girls.”

  The hairs on Liam’s neck stood up. Andy asked a question.

  “You think it was anger; lashing out for what Upton did to him?”

  Reggie shook his head. “That’s what we told ourselves and the mum.” He paused, restarting hesitantly. “Then…”

  Liam knew the reasons for his reticence. He pitied the boy, yes, but it was tempered with disgust. He finished the sentence before Boyd could.

  “You’re talking about sexual abuse. You’re saying that Sam interfered with the younger boys.”

  Interfered with; a delicate euphemism to sooth the mind. No onomatopoeia there. Oblique enough so that the casual listener could say they’d been mistaken in what they’d heard, and polite enough so that no-one could be offended by the words. God forbid that anyone should be offended. God forbid that they should face the truth; that a sixteen-year-old boy had forced sex on younger ones in the same way it had been forced on him. Reggie nodded.

  Liam whistled. It wasn’t a cheerful sound. “You’re sure?”

  The sergeant’s face said that he almost was. “I spoke to him once at home but got nothing. We were just about to lift him for official questioning when he disappeared. We’d had suspicions for a while then one of the younger boys’ dads made a complaint.”

  Liam was thoughtful. “What are the odds? I mean how many abused kids go on to abuse, and so young?”

  To his surprise Andy had the answer. “Some studies estimate ten per cent go on to abuse children when they grow up, and abused kids are nine times more likely to get involved in crime generally. But none of it’s inevitable; violence and neglect make things worse, counselling can make them better.”

  The others stared at him, impressed. It answered the question of how he’d made D.C.I. when even sitting upright seemed like too much work.

  Liam’s deep voice deepened further. “Kids abusing kids. It’s the last taboo.”

  Reggie shook his head. “I’m sure there are a few more we haven’t thought of yet.”

  “Tell us about the father who complained. Any chance he took the law into his own hands?”

  “Kidnapped and killed Sam, you mean? I doubt it. He’s a Deacon at the local Baptist church.”

  Liam snorted, lightening the mood. “I could tell you about a few clergymen who’ve gone off the rails.” He thought back to Paul Ripley, a church leader involved in a trafficking ring that they’d cracked two years before.

  Reggie nodded. “Aye, well, I don’t think this one did but you can never tell.”

  A religious man would fit their suspect list. Liam made a note to raise it with Craig and then stood up.

  “Does Sadie know your suspicions about the boy?”

  “No, we never got that far. Although she may have had fingers pointed at her around the estate. They’re not backward in coming forward around here.”

  “OK, we’ll pay her a call. Meanwhile text me the Deacon’s address and let’s see what he has to say.”

  ****

  The Relatives’ Room. Docklands.

  “Do you want me to come with you, to tell your parents?”

  T.J. and Jake were back where they’d been the day before; in the relatives’ room on Docklands’ second floor. They’d got as far as Dunmurry Lane the previous evening when T.J. had chickened out of telling his folks, instead begging Jake to take him to his flat so that he could get some rest before telling them later that night. Jake had been sceptical of him ever doing it, at least not without some sort of upper on board, but he’d been powerless to force him. T.J. had already I.D.ed his brother; it would have been excessive to involve another relative when Bobby had been eighteen.

  He’d been right to be sceptical and less than surprised when T.J. had pitched up at the C.C.U. that day, still wearing the same clothes as the day before. He looked like he’d been up all night, in all senses of the word. But lecturing him would have achieved nothing, so instead Jake offered him coffee and a trip to his folks again, ambivalent about his reply. Part of him was hoping that the young man would say no or go with his liaison officer; he wanted to nip home and check on his gran. Another part was frustrated; something that T.J. had said the day before was niggling him but he couldn’t work out what.

  They’d been talking since T.J. had arrived twenty minutes earlier and Jake still didn’t know much more about Bobby McDonagh’s last weeks than he had after his I.D. A teenager confused about his sexuality, who’d acted out by creating trouble before he’d finally accepted that he was gay two years before.

  But Bobby’s bad behaviour had been a thing of the past; once he’d come out he’d settled down to work for his A-Levels and was heading to university in the coming year. He’d obviously had some sexual encounters, the post-mortem attested to that, but they’d been a while ago. Ther
e was no steady boyfriend and he hadn’t been cruising the local scene; T.J. had made sure of that. All Bobby McDonagh appeared to have done in the past two years was study and help his dad in their garage. He seemed just like any other kid on a gap year, excited about going travelling; so what, if anything, about his current lifestyle had put him at particular risk?

  T.J. answered the question with a shake of his head, following it with a sniffed reply.

  “As far as I know, nothing. He was just planning his trip to Spain.”

  He hadn’t cried so far that day but the thought of telling his parents their younger son was dead suddenly proved too much and tears began streaming down his face.

  “I don’t know how to tell them. It will kill my mum. I just hope our Karen can be there when I do. I called her just before I came here.”

  “Is she younger or older than you?”

  “Older. She’s thirty and more sensible than Bobby and me ever were. She’s a teacher.”

  Jake nodded mutely, knowing that any comment would be redundant. It wasn’t the time to discuss the education system.

  After another few minutes’ empty conversation he led the way down to reception. As they waited for the liaison officer to take T.J. to his parents, Jake had a sudden thought. He sat on the banquette beside the still sniffing youth.

  “T.J., was Bobby still seeing anyone at social services?”

  The answer was a shake of the head. Jake’s heart sank slightly; it had been a long shot and he wasn’t even sure what he’d been shooting for, but still… He perked up when T.J.’s expression changed to say he was about to add a caveat.

  “Not social services, but he’d been seeing a counsellor for two years. It was someone the social referred him to.”

  Jake tried to hide his excitement, partly because it was unseemly and partly because he didn’t quite know what he was excited about; it just felt like a thread that should be pulled.

  “Do you have a name?”

  “No, but I might be able to get it from mum. If I do I’ll call you later.” He snorted suddenly. “Mind you, what they could tell you is anyone’s guess. Bobby only told people what he wanted them to hear.”