The Sect (The Craig Crime Series)

by Catriona King

  Annette nodded. “That means that not only was the site significant to the crimes but the date was as well. They’re linked. The bodies were dumped at Saint Patrick’s site starting on Saint Patrick’s Day.”

  A sudden bang made them jump and they turned to see Craig thumping his desk with his good hand. “Damn, damn, damn. How could we all have missed this? Well done, Annette.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow. “Why so angry?”

  “Because it’s bad news. The worst possible news and it fits with a suspicion I’ve had since yesterday.” He started to pace the small room.

  “When?”

  “When we were discussing why the tattoo was in Vulgar Latin. It wasn’t just showing off. They were playing for time to finish what they’d planned, and now they have.”

  He picked up the phone to Nicky. She was scrubbing congealed coffee and crumbs off her keyboard and planning her revenge on everyone. She couldn’t trust them alone for three days without some eejit dirtying her desk. Her telephone manner reflected her mood.

  “Murder Squad. What do you want?”

  Craig stared at the handset and almost laughed. But not quite; he wasn’t in the mood.

  “Call Downpatrick please. Tell them the surveillance will end tomorrow.”

  Her face flamed; she hadn’t noticed it was an internal call. It didn’t cross her mind that answering an external one in the way she had would have been even worse.

  “OK.”

  She set down the phone grumpily, blaming the incident on whoever had messed up her desk, and cast a glare around the squad-room as she scrubbed and moaned. No-one looked back to signal their guilt, but she wouldn’t rest until she found the culprit.

  As Craig set down the phone Liam stared at him, puzzled.

  “Why withdraw the surveillance? They’ve dumped every body there.”

  Annette shook her head. “Because they’ve finished. If the significance was in both the time and the place, it’s been two weeks since the first body was left, so Saint Patrick’s fortnight is over. They’ll move on to somewhere else with Christian significance on a different date. It could be months or years before they kill again.”

  Craig nodded. “We’ll give the surveillance till tomorrow, just in case.”

  Liam thought for a moment, his face glum. Suddenly it lit up with a grin. “It’s not bad news.”

  Craig shot him a baleful look. “Well it’s not good.”

  “No, think about it for a minute. If the time and place matters so much then there may be other places where they’ve done the same thing. Maybe in Ireland and maybe not, but it’s worth a look, isn’t it? If we can get the dates then we can see who, if any, of our suspects have alibis––”

  Craig was nodding. “As well as alerting other forces to keep their eyes open on certain future dates.” He yanked open the door and saw Davy just arriving. “Davy, I want a list of all the significant dates in the Christian calendar, for Ireland and Europe first, then the rest of the world. And any locations that have particular religious significance; concentrate on sites important to the Catholic Church. When you’ve got those start a search for murders at religious sites in Ireland and Europe, please.”

  Davy nodded and strolled to his desk. It was on the tip of Nicky’s tongue to ask Craig to tone down the volume when he disappeared into his office again. Annette warmed to their theme.

  “It may be that some have a significant date and place together like Saint Patrick’s, and others just have the date or place.”

  Craig nodded. “We’ll soon find out. It’ll take Davy a while to do that, so can you get Carmen to give him a hand, please, Annette.” He turned to Liam. “OK, let’s say they stay in Ireland for a while, what other religious sites are there here?”

  Liam thought for a moment. “Off the top of my head I’d say Lough Derg, Knock––”

  Annette cut in. “Would they really be that obvious, sir? To stay in Ireland I mean? I’d disappear pretty quickly if it were me.”

  Craig was torn. “Maybe, maybe not. They’ll know we’re investigating and they’ve probably seen the surveillance at Downpatrick. It might only take us to have already talked to one of them to make them wary of any hurried moves, including doing a sudden disappearing act abroad.” He turned back to Liam. “That makes it imperative that we interview the church misfits and suspect academics today. I want everyone on this immediately, including Andy. Get Reggie and Joe Rice to help as well. The only one not out there interviewing will be Carmen.”

  Liam opened his mouth to ask why but Craig shook his head. So far only Carmen and he knew what they’d agreed; he’d tell Annette next but that would be all. Carmen’s chance of remaining on the team hung in the balance, the last thing they needed was a thoughtless crack from Liam pushing her over the edge. He continued.

  “And make it obvious please; I want our killers to see a police presence everywhere. I want them nervous, so nervous that they slip up. Haul in anyone who feels even slightly wrong, for interview. Start with Philip McDonagh.”

  Annette was surprised. “Bobby McDonagh’s dad? Why?”

  “He threw his other son out when he said that he was gay, and we know Bobby never told his father he was because he would have been furious. When Jake met Philip McDonagh yesterday he wasn’t sure that he didn’t know about Bobby and I agree. Liam, I want to know the exact details of T.J.’s exit. Did Philip threaten him, did he fear for his life? Does he think that his father’s capable of murder? Jake can help you with that.”

  Liam had been listening quietly, now he shook his head.

  “You disagree?”

  “No, I agree. Let’s kick the tree and see what falls out. I wasn’t shaking my head because of that. Something’s just occurred to me.”

  Craig nodded. He knew exactly what it was; he’d thought of it the night before.

  “The first victim.”

  Liam nodded. “Exactly.”

  Annette was puzzled. “Elena Boraks. What’s special about her?”

  Craig shook his head. “Not Boraks. Bobby McDonagh.”

  “But he wasn’t the first body, sir. She was.”

  Craig had already lifted the phone. John answered in a few rings.

  “John. I need you to check something.”

  The pathologist’s tone was wary. “Hello. Forgiven me yet?”

  “What? Oh, yes, sorry for being grumpy last night. I was wrecked. That’s not why I called you.”

  John took the case file from his drawer. “Fire ahead. What do you want to know?”

  “Bobby McDonagh’s body. How soon after death was he found?”

  “One to two hours. Same as the rest.”

  Craig said nothing and John had a sinking feeling that he’d missed something.

  “Oh crap. You mean––”

  “Can you check it out and phone me back?”

  “It’ll take a while.”

  “Quick as you can.”

  As he hung up Annette asked the question. “What am I missing, sir?”

  “Probably the same thing as John. It’s just speculation but…”

  He stopped mid-sentence and handed over to Liam.

  “The first victim’s always significant, yes?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do I look like a rookie?”

  “Pass. OK, so we’re thinking maybe Bobby McDonagh was actually killed first and kept somewhere, then dumped second, out of order, to throw us off.” He turned to Craig. “What do you think? Deep frozen?”

  Craig nodded. “I can’t think of anything else that would fit. Of course, this could be rubbish and Elena Boraks might still have been the first, but I don’t think so. Bobby feels right.”

  Annette understood. “So if Bobby was the first…”

  “His dad’s more likely to have been involved and they rearranged the order deliberately to throw us off his trail.” He sounded a note of caution. “We could still be wrong.” He glanced at the clock and motioned them out, calling the team together.


  “This is going to be short. Davy knows what he’s doing and he’s got a lot to do, so Carmen, help him today, please. The rest of you take your briefing from Liam and Annette. We’ll reconvene at five o’clock and until then I’ll be contactable on the phone. Liam, make sure to brief Andy please and keep me up to speed on McDonagh. Nicky, I’ll be at Queen’s and then the lab. That’s it.”

  He turned towards the lift but Nicky stopped him.

  “You can’t leave yet, sir, you have a visitor. A Doctor Sofia Emiliani. She’s waiting in reception.”

  Craig tutted more loudly than he’d meant to, but he had better things to do than speak to a shrink; he’d had enough of those after Caleb Pitt’s death. He checked the clock grudgingly then nodded Nicky to bring her up. Five minutes later he understood John’s late night call.

  Sofia Emiliani didn’t just walk into the squad-room; she entered like she was leading a parade. Her steps were slow and languorous and her voluptuous figure mesmerised everyone, even the women; it curved like a coastal road up to her face, an equally miraculous feat of engineering. Each angle was perfectly measured, each rise and fall delicately placed, to support a pair of brown eyes so dark that they were almost black and lips that formed a soft smile even at rest. She looked like she’d been sculpted, and even Craig, as monogamous as they came, was taken aback. But only for a moment; he would leave the stunned gawping to the more impressionable members of his team.

  He strode across the floor with his hand extended, more surprised than impressed at the languid way the psychiatrist slid hers into his.

  “Devi essere Marco.” (You must be Marco.)

  He was surprised. Katy hadn’t said the consultant was Italian, or maybe she had. Her name should probably have tipped him off anyway, but he had to admit that he hadn’t heard anything except ‘psychiatrist’. He smiled politely, feeling everyone’s eyes on them.

  “Doctor Emiliani. Thank you for coming.”

  “Sofia.”

  “Doctor.”

  Even in her languid state she heard the steel in his words. He ignored her blatant flirtation and nodded her towards a chair, beckoning Liam across. Someone might as well enjoy themselves; he had work to do.

  “I’m afraid I have a meeting, so I’ll leave you in the capable hands of D.C.I. Cullen.” He turned quickly, but not quickly enough to miss the annoyance on her face. “Liam, Doctor Emiliani is a forensic psychiatrist working with Doctor Winter on a profile of our killers. Could you familiarise her with the ritual aspects of the case and then arrange a car to take her to the lab.” He turned back to their guest with a brisk smile. “I’ll leave you with D.C.I. Cullen.”

  Said D.C.I. gawped at her like a sixteen-year-old boy as Nicky mimicked being sick into her waste paper bin.

  “Goodbye.”

  With that Craig was across the floor and in the lift, knowing that by the time he’d reached the garage Nicky would be on the phone. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “Ooh, she’s not a happy girl. She was looking daggers at you as you left.”

  “It’s not my job to keep her happy, or yours. Give her a coffee and then ship her off to John.”

  Nicky slowed her tone, mimicking the Italian Goddess. “But she… like… you… ver… much, Super… intendant.”

  He snorted and started the car but Nicky hadn’t finished.

  “How did she get involved in the case anyway?”

  “Katy met her at work and suggested her.”

  “Then, with all due respect, Katy’s bonkers. I wouldn’t let that boa constrictor anywhere near my man.”

  He laughed and pulled out onto Pilot Street. “She’s obviously more trusting than you.” He ended the call with a firm, “Goodbye, Nicky. Call me if you need me, and remember to handle the good doctor with care or Liam will cry.”

  ****

  Interviewing his way through the V.C’s hit list of academics was like spending a morning stepping back in time. Each time he knocked on an office door Craig wasn’t sure whether he’d be greeted by a ponytailed sixties throwback, a parental figure or an earnest nerd. The most normal of the bunch was the final name on his list; the Professor of Archaeology, George Robinson. At least he seemed normal, until he began to speak, then his unfortunate tendency to slip in and out of eras and dialects made Craig feel like he was in an episode of Doctor Who. After twenty minutes of being lectured on the value of primary school children learning Ancient Greek, he steered the discussion firmly back to the point.

  “So you’ve heard of Vulgar Latin, Professor Robinson?”

  Robinson turned from the bookshelf he’d been scanning, a volume of Sophocles in his hand.

  “Of course I have! Everyone knows about Vulgar Latin.”

  Craig was damn sure that everyone didn’t. If he stood at the City Hall and tannoyed the question he’d get nothing but blank looks. He smiled patiently and pressed on.

  “Do you know anyone who would know enough to write it?”

  The academic tutted and took a seat behind his desk, pushing two piles of books apart so that he could see Craig’s face.

  “Vulgar Latin isn’t written!” It was said with a horror usually reserved for national disasters. “Vulgar Latin is a spoken dialect. The word of the common man in Ancient Rome.”

  Craig pictured men in togas greeting each other with ‘Salve’ like people said ‘Hiya’ in a Belfast street.

  “But surely anything that’s said can be written, even if it’s just phonetically.”

  The academic opened his mouth to object then his eyes widened and he shut it again, giving Craig a grudging nod.

  “Well… yes… yes, I suppose that it can.”

  He leaned forward urgently, the movement disturbing the dust on one pile of books.

  “But why would they? Why would they write it? That’s the question.” He said the words inquisitively, as if an idea for a new research topic had just appeared.

  It wasn’t Craig’s question; he was far more interested in finding a name.

  “Surely who would write it is more pertinent? Can you think of anyone at the university particularly familiar with Vulgar Latin?”

  He’d been through everyone on the V.C.’s culprit list and drawn a blank. Time to use start using them as informants.

  Robinson turned from side to side for a moment, as if he was having a conversation inside his head. The movement was accompanied by raised eyebrows and the occasional half nod. Finally the nodding became more definite and he scribbled a name on a scrap of paper and passed it through the book flanked gap. Craig’s eyes widened when he saw it.

  “You’re positive?”

  The scholar nodded. “Guest lectures on Vulgar Latin. I attended one.”

  Craig rose to leave, knowing he was about to piss off Liam two fold. His phone was out of his pocket before he’d hit the street and Liam answered the call just as he reached his car.

  “What’s happening, boss?”

  He sounded as cheerful as a man spending time with a beautiful woman would, and Craig knew instantly that Sofia Emiliani was still there.

  “Why hasn’t she left for the lab yet?”

  Liam went to ask how he knew she hadn’t and then shrugged instead. Craig heard the action as if it had made a noise.

  “Because you were too busy chatting her up, that’s why.”

  “Sorry.” His contrition was hollow. “I’ll send her now.”

  Craig answered quickly. “Don’t!” He caveated the order. “I mean, don’t send her until after lunch. I need John and Des alone for a while.”

  The last thing he needed was two scientists drooling while he was trying to work.

  Liam was happy to oblige. “Grand. We’ll take her to The James then. Is that what you rang about?”

  For a moment Craig completely forgot why he’d called. The paper in his hand reminded him.

  “Theodora Rustin. Tell me about her.”

  “Nice lady. Professor of History with a special interest in the history of religion. Sh
e wrote her thesis on the Spanish Inquisition.”

  “What did your gut say when you met her?”

  Liam wondered if it was a trick question. In the context of the sexy psychiatrist it could have been Craig’s way of taking the mick. He answered warily, repeating himself.

  “Nice lady.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “The Inquisition, like I said.”

  Craig was confused. “She said she knew Vulgar Latin?”

  “No. She definitely didn’t know it, but once Aloysius had translated it and given me the phrase about torture she recognised that. Why?”

  Craig was insistent. “She definitely said that she didn’t know Vulgar Latin?”

  Liam sighed, exasperated. “Yes, definitely. She only recognised the words once they were translated into Classical.”

  Craig sighed. “Then you were played. She guest lectures on it.”

  Liam’s face flamed as Craig continued.

  “She probably lied about not being religious too. Where’s her office? And I want you at her home address ASAP.”

  Liam swung round to find Davy. “I need Rustin’s home address.”

  Sofia Emiliani gawped as he abandoned her and raced to the lift, barking the office address down the phone to Craig. Craig ran to University Square, arriving at the Victorian terrace by the time Liam was in his car, and by the time Liam had arrived at Theodora Rustin’s city centre apartment, Craig was standing in her empty office. It wasn’t simply empty of her presence; the dust gaps on the shelves said that she’d taken every belonging as well.

  “Damn, damn…”

  His tirade was interrupted by Liam calling back.

  “Have you found her?”

  Liam’s pause said he didn’t have good news.

  “She’s gone, boss. The caretaker let me in and the flat has been cleaned out. He hasn’t seen her since Saturday.”

  “The last time you met with her. As soon as she knew we’d translated the tattoo she skipped. Her office has been cleared out too.” He sighed heavily. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve found the academic amongst our killers.”

  Liam was gutted that he’d missed it and he scrambled for something to redeem himself. “She wasn’t working alone. A woman couldn’t have carried the bodies, not even Sam Beech’s.”