The Careless Word (#8 - The Craig Crime Series)

by Catriona King

  “There was one of those scanner things by the door as well, boss. You know, like they have in clothes shops.”

  Annette nodded. Liam was referring to the shop exit gates that set off an alarm during thefts. “That means the books must have been tagged.”

  Davy looked puzzled. “W…Why would they have needed both? If they had tags then why have CCTV?”

  Craig thought for a moment before answering. “Some books might have been too valuable to tag, and they would have needed to watch for people removing the tags or just defacing books.”

  Nicky’s husky voice rang across the room. Even though she was ten feet away at her desk she missed nothing.

  “What sort of eejit defaces books? If I ever caught our Jonny…”

  Craig turned to face her. “Jonny values his life too much.” Nicky’s twelve-year-old son was one of the best behaved kids he’d ever met, more from fear of his mother’s wrath than instinct he suspected. He just hoped that Nicky didn’t keep the reins on too tight, but then in the paramilitary dominated area she lived in she probably needed to more than most.

  “Anyway, there’ve been plenty of book-destroyers in history, Nicky, the Nazis for instance. Let’s accept that the shop would have had security measures and start looking for them.”

  Craig continued with the forensics and then updated them on their survivor. “Liam and I are going back to the hospital later, to see what we can find out. Annette, dig further into the CCTV please and pay a visit to Papyrus. I’d value your opinion of the scene, just in case we missed something.”

  He turned to Davy. He was examining his hair for split ends. Before Craig could comment, Davy showed that he’d been listening attentively. “I’m looking into each of the victims’ backgrounds in detail, including the s…survivor.”

  “Great, and give Des a call on the forensics as well, please.” Craig paused and a rueful expression crossed his face. “Don’t ask me why but I think the army’s going to be difficult about the details of the bomb.”

  Liam nodded. “They always are. Mind you, that young lad Smith seemed friendly enough.”

  “That young lad is about thirty-five, Liam, and yes, he was friendly, but his boss might be a different kettle of fish.” Craig squinted at his deputy. “Besides, when did you get so fond of army officers? You’ve never had a good word to say about them until now.”

  Liam nodded. He’d crossed swords with the military plenty of times during the Troubles. Some of them had thought their jurisdiction included the whole country and they’d wrangled to take the lead in the investigation of every blast. If he had respect for them it came from their willingness to defuse bombs; that bit he’d been very happy to leave them with.

  “Aye, that’s true. They can be a bolshie lot.”

  Liam grinned pointedly at Craig and everyone knew he was thinking about Julia McNulty, Craig’s ex. She was a D.I. up in Limavady now but she’d been an army captain for years and the hierarchical manner had never left her.

  “But they know their stuff on bombs, right enough. They were usually able to give us a name, just by looking at the way the device was rigged.”

  “Good, let’s hope they can this time. Davy, on the off-chance that they’re less than generous with information, I still need to know everything that the army knows about our blast. “

  “I have a contact at the barracks. I’ll try him.”

  “Good. Let me know if you get anything. I’ll arrange a meeting with Major James as well. I also need a copy of the shop’s floor plan, its ownership history and everything you can find on its stock. Also the finances of all the victims.”

  “W…What are you thinking of?”

  Craig shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure yet, but there was a reason that shop was targeted and it can only be to do with one of the victims, the shop, its contents, or some other history we don’t know about. Smithfield might be OK now, but the area has had a variable past.”

  Annette nodded. She remembered going there to collect her children’s school uniforms and the number of shops with blacked-out windows and furtive looking men outside had been substantial even then.

  Liam yawned widely, wishing he’d gone to bed instead of sitting up till two a.m. watching his recorded football match.

  “You thinking protection racket, boss?”

  Craig shrugged. “Maybe, or maybe something else. We’ll find out when we start digging.” He sprang to his feet, preparing to leave, then stopped suddenly and scanned the room. “Jake’s still off with his root canal?”

  “Aye. He should have stayed away from the dentist, that’s what I do. Brush and pray and you’ll be all right.”

  “Not everyone has your faith in God.”

  “Danni does the praying for me. I just brush.”

  Craig resisted making a crack. “When are we expecting Jake back?”

  Annette smiled apologetically. “I thought it was going to be today or Monday, but it seems I was wrong. Jake’s partner called me last night saying he was in agony. He’s got an infection so he’s likely to be off for the best part of next week.”

  Craig made up his mind. “OK. Then we definitely need another pair of hands. Liam, chase up Aidan Hughes, and all of you get onto the other squads and see if anyone fancies a secondment to us, just for this case. We’ll recruit more formally after John’s wedding.”

  He resumed his exit, beckoning Liam to follow and yelling “briefings at eight and four o’clock each day unless I say not” as they left.

  ***

  Pakistan. 12 p.m. local time

  Jennifer Weston gazed across the high yellow grass, made brittle and pale by the sun. Her blue eyes turned silver in the high midday light and she wondered where her lover was now; somewhere much better than this if what she’d heard was true. She thought of his dark-brown eyes and white unblemished skin, remembering how cool it had felt to touch; like stepping into a refreshing lake to escape the heat of the midday sun. He had been sweet, sweeter than any fruit she’d ever tasted, his innocent faith making him seem much younger than his years.

  How long had it been since they’d first met? Only twenty months, outside the student’s union in Belfast. Belfast; so far away now and yet part of both their roots. She thought of him in his student uniform of jeans and T-shirt, eager and ready to learn in his new, exciting world. He’d viewed everything un-cynically and showed all the signs that would make him easy to snare.

  And her… her what? What had she been? A visitor to her old college, steeped in knowledge that hadn’t come from any degree and seeking a willing pupil. She’d spotted his vulnerability quickly and moved to separate him from the crowd, making him hers and owning him from then on. It had been so easy.

  So easy to impress him with her knowledge, wrap her ideals around his and then twist them into one thread. So easy to do to him what had already been done to her. To seduce him, physically and emotionally, until he was clay waiting to be moulded by her hands. Clay that would eventually become a weapon.

  ***

  St Mary’s. 11 a.m.

  By the time Craig and Liam arrived at the ED the white-coated consultant and her students were disappearing into the distance like a migrating flock. Craig dispatched Liam to ask when Dr O’Neill would be free to talk then he nodded hello to the P.C. by the side-room and pushed open the door.

  Fintan Delaney was lying with his eyes closed, just as he had been the evening before, his pallor even stronger now than then. Could pallor be stronger? Craig asked and answered the question yes; Delaney’s skin was so pale that if he hadn’t been squeezing his eyes so tightly Craig would have sworn that he was dead.

  He walked to the side of the bed and stared down at the boy, wondering if he had ever looked so young. He had of course; they all had once. When did it change; gradually or in incremental steps? Looking twenty for ten years and then overnight an older man, as if time had chased and caught up with them at some finish line. Craig’s reverie was broken by a twitch of Delaney’s
hand. He looked on as the young man stilled it deliberately and then lay frozen, like a child who hoped that if they closed their eyes and didn’t move they wouldn’t be seen. Craig’s warm voice broke the silence.

  “Mr Delaney, I know that you can hear me.”

  More silence and another twitch. Craig wondered if a touch would constitute assault and decided to take the risk. He rested his long tanned fingers on Delaney’s forearm knowing that the boy would feel the pressure and react. Delaney didn’t disappoint him. He jerked his arm away to avoid a further contact and in doing so he pulled his hand straight into Craig’s.

  What the boy did next surprised Craig. Instead of pulling his hand away again he let it rest there, touching Craig’s as if he was seeking comfort, or giving up the fight. Whichever it was it was accompanied by hesitantly opening eyes. Brown eyes, just as Craig had guessed. His name was Fintan Delaney and he had black hair and brown eyes. The rest would come.

  Chapter Six

  The Lab. 11.30 a.m.

  John Winter gazed around his lab and smiled. It had taken Craig and Liam to make him see what had happened but only five minutes after they’d gone for him to assert himself. Mary had responded quickly to his call the day before and a squad of painters and movers had been in overnight. Now his once-yellow walls were restored to their former glory and his dark-wood display cases were back in their rightful place. His lab looked like his inner sanctum again, instead of a tier of Natalie’s wedding cake.

  John corrected himself quickly. His and Natalie’s wedding cake, although it often felt like hers alone. That was partly his fault. Once they’d set the date he’d been happy to hand planning the wedding over to her, partly from laziness and disinterest and partly because he hadn’t a clue what to do. He’d never understood why women got so worked up over a single day. All he wanted was to be married to her, not to have a party for the whole world. He’d also handed things over because he knew that was what Natalie wanted; to spend months fussing over colour schemes and details with her mother and Katy, and then to appear on the day, serene and beautiful, as if she hadn’t been running around like a headless chicken for months.

  John poured himself a coffee and bit into a day-old scone, thanking God that they’d decided to get married abroad. They’d have people there that they knew and cared about, instead of thirty anonymous cousins and uncles who he’d never met. There would be sun, sea and hopefully the other ‘s’ as well, and it had still worked out cheaper than a marquee on the Ingrams’ lawn, not to mention hiring a castle for the day like some people did!

  The soon-to-be married pathologist allowed himself a moment imagining his wedding night in a luxury beach-hut, with the scent of flowers and the sea mingling in the night’s warm breeze, then he turned his thoughts back to the case Craig had given him and enthusiastically returned to work.

  ***

  St Mary’s.

  By the time Liam re-joined them Craig and Fintan Delaney were sitting eye-to-eye, staring at each other. Craig held a pen and notepad in his hand and Delaney a pen in his. The pad’s top page was covered with two different styles of handwriting. Craig’s clear, elegant, half-print and a larger, rounder hand than belonged to someone young. Liam crossed the room noisily and grabbed the only remaining chair, sitting beside Craig and squinting suspiciously at their charge. After a moment’s more scribbling Craig set the pen down and beckoned Liam outside.

  “He can’t speak.”

  Liam scratched his chin and nodded. “Aye. That’s what the Doc said. Says she’ll be down for a chat in a minute. She’s on her last patient.”

  Craig held up the pad and Liam read it quickly. The gist of the Q and A was that Fintan Delaney remembered nothing about himself or his life. He only knew his name because the nurse had told him. He wanted to speak, but every time he opened his mouth only air emerged, or, at a push, a dry grunt.

  Liam sniffed. “Do you believe him?”

  Craig hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Yes. And no. He knows that something bad happened and I think he feels bad about it. That could mean he’s actually guilty of something, or just feeling guilty because he survived.”

  Just then they were joined by a slim, white-coated woman whose perfectly coiffed hair and air of confidence said consultant louder than any badge. Craig thought about Nigel Murdock, a corrupt surgeon that they’d encountered on a previous case. He’d been arrogant and rude but this woman extended her hand to Craig and smiled warmly, underlining the fact that not all doctors were the same.

  “Superintendent Craig?”

  “Yes. Thank-you for agreeing to talk to us, Dr O’Neill. I know your relationship with Mr Delaney is confidential, but anything that you can tell us would be helpful.”

  Janet O’Neill nodded and went to open the side-room door. “Just give me a moment.” With that she disappeared, to reappear two minutes later with a smile.

  “I’ve obtained Mr Delaney’s written consent to discuss his case with you. Please follow me.”

  They walked to a small office and she waved them towards two seats, then she started speaking immediately.

  “Mr Delaney has global retrograde amnesia. He remembers nothing about his life before today, not even his own name.”

  Liam interrupted. “How do you know he’s not faking it?”

  O’Neill raised an eyebrow. “Thirty years of experience, Mr Cullen.”

  Craig gave Liam a glance that said ‘wait’ and nodded the consultant on.

  O’Neill steepled her fingers and stared at them in turn. “It’s quite common after trauma for the patient to have no memory of the incident itself, or of the few days before. Retrograde amnesia. It’s due to shock, particularly if there’s been a head injury. Often those memories never return; lost days. But global amnesia like this is much rarer.”

  She paused and Craig leapt into the gap. “In your experience what does that mean? Survivor guilt, trauma, or shutting out memories of responsibility for the event?”

  O’Neill gave a small smile. “Any or all of those, Superintendent. I believe that when Mr Delaney was found he was standing in the room filled with dead people, only two of whom even resembled people at all. That’s a horrific sight, even for someone experienced like us, never mind a twenty-year-old. Added to that Mr Delaney was temporarily deaf from the blast and probably couldn’t believe that he hadn’t died as well.”

  “So he could simply be traumatised by what he saw and by the fact that he survived, without there being any culpability?”

  The consultant nodded. “He could. Or he could have planted the bomb. I’ve seen people go into complete denial when they see the results of what they’ve done.”

  Liam cut in. “How long are you going to keep him in?”

  “At least a week I should say. We have to ensure that he doesn’t suffer any delayed reaction, physically or emotionally. He was caught in quite an explosion.”

  Or he caused one.

  Janet O’ Neill leaned forward. “In the meantime, can I ask your help with finding his family? He’s anxious to find out more about himself and familiar faces can sometimes help with that.”

  Craig nodded and rose to his feet. “We’ll do that. In the meantime I’d like another quick chat with Mr Delaney, and on the off-chance that he is guilty, we’ll be leaving an officer here for the rest of his stay.”

  ***

  Forever Bridal. Upper Lisburn Road, Belfast. 4 p.m.

  Katy yawned exaggeratedly and pointed at the time, watching as Natalie twirled around in her fifth dress of the day. There was no question about it; everything in the shop was exquisite. Each dress was a triumph of silk or lace, chosen with experience by Leondra, the shop’s owner, on one of her buying trips abroad. Anything Natalie chose would be exponential improvement on the taffeta puffball she’d shown her the day before.

  Natalie disappeared into the changing room, shooting Katy a sheepish grin and holding up one finger to signify that she had a final dress to try on. Somehow Katy doubted it
would be the last but she smiled benignly at her friend. It wasn’t every day someone got married and it was a new experience to see Natalie behaving girlishly, or wearing anything much besides her surgical scrubs. Katy was pleased for her, but she also knew that the situation would have comic value for years to come.

  Katy had just picked up a copy of the Ulster Bazaar and started to flick though its glossy pages when a loud squeal came from the dressing room. She jumped up, certain that Natalie had ripped something expensive then Natalie suddenly reappeared in an exquisite dress. Her eyes sparkled and her skin had taken on a glow that made it seem airbrushed. Katy had never seen her look so pretty and it was easy to see why. Wrapped around her petite form was a wedding dress so beautiful that it brought tears to Katy’s eyes.

  Soft folds of silky white fabric fell like a waterfall from one shoulder, held there with by an elegant silver clasp. They reached the floor and continued the analogy, spreading out behind Natalie in a fluid train, long enough to announce the importance of the occasion but short enough not to swamp her tiny frame. Katy gasped as Natalie walked slowly to the mirror and turned, showing that the dress was just as beautiful from the back. She nodded for permission to touch the silk. It was cobweb light and cool and Katy pictured her friend walking towards John wearing it, with her long dark curls flowing down her back. The effect would be stunning.

  Natalie gazed at herself in the mirror, wearing a shocked expression. She smoothed down the fabric and glanced at her friend with a hopeful question in her eyes. Katy smiled and just then Leondra produced a matching bridesmaid’s dress in the creamiest lemon that they had ever seen. Natalie would have her yellow and white wedding and they would both look lovely while she did.

  ***

  Saturday. 7.30 a.m.

  Davy was at work uncharacteristically early. He was already yawning at his desk when Craig arrived, having managed to slip through the morning traffic around St George’s Market before it built up. St George’s was a Belfast landmark; the last surviving Victorian covered market in Belfast, built in 1890. Its stalls traded in everything from gourmet food to art.