John smiled. “Nice to know we’re being invited for our charm. I’ll check with Des but that should be fine. OK, Fintan Delaney.”
“Yes?”
“It’s too early to have a definitive cause of death. I can tell you that he was healthy and there was nothing obvious that would have killed him.”
Craig nodded towards the shrouded body. “Have you opened his head yet?”
John rolled his eyes at the lay-man terminology. “I have performed craniotomy and examined his brain; yes. And no, there was nothing there that could have killed him. Whatever was causing Delaney’s amnesia it wasn’t physical. Shock from the explosion I should think, but it’s a moot point now. But he definitely didn’t die from any physical after effect of the bomb. I haven’t finished swabbing the body but I’ll stick my neck out and say yes, someone murdered him.”
“Poison?”
“Chemical of some sort. It’s unlikely that his killer woke him up to make him swallow it, so it was probably inserted through his I.V. Des can tell you more after he’s examined the giving set.”
Craig knew it was a Sunday and that Delaney had only been on John’s table for a few hours but he thought he’d push his luck.
“Type of chemical?”
John laughed. “Now you’re really chancing your arm. There’s no way the tox-screen will be back until tomorrow lunchtime earliest. You’ll just have to wait. Although…”
Craig smiled. John never liked to disappoint. “I can tell you what it wasn’t. And Des may have pulled a print from somewhere around the bed. That might give you a name.”
Craig shook his head. “We already have one; Jennifer Weston. The ward Sister I.D.ed her from the tape.”
“A nurse?”
Craig nodded. He caught sight of the time on the wall clock and turned to leave. “Sorry John, I have a briefing to get to. Thanks for all that.” He halted at the door and turned back. “By the way, what wasn’t it?”
“What?”
“The poison that killed Delaney.”
John walked towards him enthusiastically. “Well, there was no scent of bitter almonds, so it definitely wasn’t cyanide, and there was no sign of haemolysis so that rules arsenic out. I could go on for hours.”
Craig was sure of it so he waved goodbye quickly and headed for his car.
Chapter Thirteen
UKUF Headquarters: Garvan’s Bookmakers. East Belfast. 3.30 p.m.
The door to the small back room banged open and a slight young man entered with a scowl on his face. The expression was tinged with anxiety but Bryn McIlveen was fighting hard not to let it show. Anger scored points in his gang; anxiety and fear never would. His words staccato-ed out in a broken tenor.
“Has anywan seen Sharpy?”
The two men in the room ignored him and sorted slowly through their poker cards. One held his so close to his chest that he could only view them with an exaggerated sloping of his head. It made him look like he was about to head-butt his competitor. Eventually he barked “two”, signalling the swop of two fresh cards for his own.
McIlveen croaked again. “Sharpy. Has anywan seen her?”
The close-chested man turned slowly, barely lifting his eyes from the game. “Missing yer squeeze, are ye?”
The young man’s face turned red and he clenched his fists. “Fuck you. I’m jest askin’ ’cos no-one’s seen her fer three days.”
The card dealer glanced up with curiosity in his eyes, paying attention at last. “Have ye asked Zac?”
The boy shook his head. “I was afeard to. He’s pissed aff about sumthin’ as usual. Ye ask him.”
The man rose, revealing two arms covered in tattoos, with a red, white and blue ‘UKUF’ the largest of them all. He slipped his cards untrustingly into his pocket and nodded his opponent to do the same, then he walked past the boy and knocked hesitantly on an inner door, opening it on a high-pitched “come in.”
The man’s walk altered as he entered the room, into a subconscious display of deference. His arrogant dander became quiet steps and his previously squared shoulders hunched into a slope. If anyone had seen the stripling who greeted him they would have wondered why, but what Zac Greer lacked in physical prepossession he made up for in cruelty and guile.
The tattooed man stood with his head bowed until a single word gave him permission to look up.
“Well?”
Zac Greer lounged behind his desk in a high-backed leather chair that swung slightly as he moved. He was young; younger than the young man who had started the disruption and too young some said to wield the influence that he did. But that was mere conjecture because Zac had held it for as long as he could breathe. He was the son of David and Sharon Greer, Sharpy to her friends and enemies alike, and he’d inherited his father’s crown upon his death. Zac Greer had been groomed to rule from the day that he could walk. Men may have muttered in corners about his right but genetics won out every time.
The tattooed man gabbled out words like “Sharpy” and “no-wan’s seen her since Thursday last” and in moments Zac had the full story. He loved his mother but they didn’t live in each other’s pockets; he ran the whores and drugs and left the protection side to her. It wasn’t unusual for them not to see each other for days so he hadn’t even noticed that she was gone.
Zac’s annoyance at missing something turned to fury and in a second he was across his desk; his short, wiry frame standing too close to the larger man and the contrast between his designer clothes and the other’s bargain-basement T-shirt and jeans impossible to miss. He yelled at the older man.
“What d’ya mean she’s not been seen? Since when?”
“I… I don’t know, boss.” The man glanced hopefully towards the door. “It was young McIlveen what noticed.”
Greer dropped his tenor voice to a baritone growl. “Fetch him in, and get everyone together. I want to know who was supposed to be guarding my Ma.”
The man was out the door and back ten seconds later with Bryn McIlveen. A minute of interrogation revealed that he’d last seen Sharpy on Thursday morning when she’d said that she was heading into town. She’d said she would bring back cakes but she hadn’t re-appeared. He’d thought nothing of it, knowing her tendency to disappear, but it was three days now and that was way too long.
Zac Greer glared at the gawky teenager who’d had the temerity to notice what he’d missed. His fury wasn’t displaced guilt; the emotion was completely alien to him, bred out of him before he could walk. His fury was based on a firm belief that he knew everything, and anyone who proved that he didn’t was at risk.
The sound of men’s voices in the corridor made Zac break his glare and storm outside. A dozen men were standing there and their murmured words ceased abruptly as he appeared. The crown prince scanned their faces then he beckoned McIlveen. He pointed to one man. He was slim and small with skin so dark that the others called him by a racial epithet; his given name was Robbie Long.
“Long. You were guarding my Ma last Thursday. Where is she?”
Robbie Long froze where he was standing. His eyes widened and the men close-by could read the thoughts rushing across his face. What had happened to Sharpy? What had he done wrong? And most important of all; what was Zac going to do to him?
Long suddenly realised he was expected to give an answer and he gasped one out so breathlessly that only Zac and the tattooed man beside him could hear.
“Sharpy made me drap her off at Castle Court centre an’ leave; I wasn’t wanted. She said she was goin’ shoppin’ then hud a meeting. No-one else was to know about it. Honest to God, Zac, she tawl me to piss off.”
Zac’s eyes narrowed, not in concern for his mother but at the idea that she’d been up to something he didn’t know about.
“Who was she meetin’?”
Long shook his head so hard that the tattooed man winced, knowing that it must hurt. But if Robbie Long thought the strength of his gesture would save his bacon he was wrong. Zac repeated three questions rel
entlessly. ‘Who, where and when?’ He asked them in different voices of different strengths accompanied by a punch or slap, until finally Robbie Long fell to his knees, unable to take any more. Finally he squeezed out. “Sharpy said she’d kill me if I tawl anyone.”
Zac bent down and pushed his face close to the man’s. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
Long’s shoulders slumped and he nodded. “She was meeting sumwan about thon bookshop. You know, the weird wan in Smithfield. She said he was goin’ to pay her a lot for sumthin’”
Zac Greer recoiled at the words. The bookshop was gone, blown apart; it had been all over the news. He hadn’t paid much attention; after all it hadn’t been their handiwork. Until today he’d had no reason to give it a second thought, but now…
He grabbed Robbie Long by the throat. “Where? Where was they meetin’?”
Long raised his eyes pleadingly, already knowing that it was a futile task; there was no sympathy in Zac to be begged. “I don’t know, Zac. That’s all she tawl me.” He scrambled furiously for something that might save him. “I think they was meetin’ in Castle Court.”
Zac relaxed imperceptibly; his Ma had been in Castle Court, streets away from the bomb, but that didn’t change Long’s betrayal. Zac turned his back to the crowd and whispered something in the tattooed man’s ear, then he re-entered his office, leaving Long to be dragged screaming to a near-death beating in an alleyway.
Anyone watching might have mistaken Zac’s sombre face and quiet strides for concern, anyone who didn’t know him that was. He wasn’t worried, he was thinking; thinking about the pot of money that someone had been prepared to pay his mother for something, and her betrayal in keeping the details from him. But even more than that he was contemplating what to do on her return and planning her overthrow. He rehearsed his coronation speech in his head. ‘The Queen is gone. Long live the King’.
***
Docklands. 4 p.m.
Liam shot Carmen McGregor a look that everyone missed, everyone that was except Nicky. She’d shaken hands with their temporary constable as soon as she’d arrived, ignoring Liam’s raised eyebrow as she did. Raised not because Nicky wasn’t normally polite, but because shaking people’s hands wasn’t usually her thing. But Nicky had felt the tension between Liam and the red-haired secondee as soon as they’d entered the floor, and shaking hands would tell her much more than a smile and hello.
She was right. Carmen McGregor’s handshake was over-firm, almost stubbornly so, and she’d held Nicky’s gaze defiantly as they shook. There was no smile in McGregor’s eyes, just a pissed-off gaze that said Liam and she had had words at some point in the day. Nicky had released the woman’s hand and offered her a coffee. It was accepted with barely a nod; no thanks and no smile. As Carmen McGregor had turned towards her indicated desk Nicky’d given her the once over. Mid-thirties or slightly less and extremely pretty in a porcelain-doll-like way; although she tried to hide it under a shapeless suit and an unkempt, Boho hairstyle that did her no favours at all.
Nicky also knew McGregor was angry, so angry that it had been palpable in a five second handshake. She would lay odds on that she was mouthy with it, except that Liam would have jumped all over that.
Nicky poured the coffee for the briefing, nodding to herself and stifling a smile. She knew exactly what was wrong with Carmen McGregor and it was eminently curable.
Just then Craig entered the squad-room and walked towards his lively P.A., just catching the tail-end of her smile. It was a knowing smile that said Nicky had information no-one else had and he knew she would tell him when she thought he ought to know. He nodded hopefully at the coffee.
“Is that for us, Nick?”
Nicky pursed her lips primly, as befitted her fifties theme, and shot him a sceptical look. “Is it ever not?”
Craig smiled and turned to face the room. He spotted Carmen and approached her immediately with an open hand.
“Welcome to the team, Constable McGregor. I’m Superintendent Craig. I hope you’ll enjoy your time with us.”
Carmen was caught off balance; literally and metaphorically. She’d been kneeling to fix a drawer handle when Craig approached, and her shock at the sight of him coupled with her rush to shake his hand had made her fall flat on the floor. Liam gave a loud guffaw and Craig rushed forward to help her. Carmen was torn between shooting Liam a look that would kill and gabbling “thank-you” to her new boss.
As she scrambled onto her chair Carmen admitted to herself that she was shocked. She’d heard that Craig was good looking but she hadn’t expected this; he looked like a matinée idol! He wasn’t her type; she preferred blonds, but he was a shock nonetheless. Still, behind his charm he was probably a bastard, a wimp or a bully, that was her usual experience of men. Nicky viewed the interaction from a distance, smiling again and ticking off the list that she’d made in her head. She’d diagnosed Carmen McGregor correctly, now she just had to formulate a treatment plan.
Craig nodded towards his guffawing deputy. “No doubt Liam’s been showing you the ropes with his usual delicacy?”
Carmen couldn’t help but smile at the words, and at Liam’s indignant face.
“Here now, I’ve been as good as gold, boss.”
“I’m sure.”
Craig grabbed a chair and sat down near Nicky’s desk. “Right, everyone. Gather round please. It’s a Sunday and we all have homes to go to, so let’s make this short and sweet.”
When everyone was seated Nicky appeared with a box of cream cakes. Craig raised an eyebrow as she spread them primly on a plate.
“It’s Sunday afternoon tea. A new tradition.”
Liam reached a hand out to grab an éclair and Nicky rapped it with a spoon, making Carmen smile again.
Nicky’s tone was firm. “Good manners are an old tradition. So wait.”
Craig carried on. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Constable Carmen McGregor who’s joining us from the Vice Squad for a couple of weeks.”
A chorus of ‘Hi’ and ‘Hello’ came and went as Craig continued. “Carmen is one of two people seconded to us for a fortnight. The second person is Captain Ken Smith, one of the bomb disposal team. He’ll join us tomorrow and also hopefully Jake will be back. We’ll need everyone we can get to wrap this case up by the 30th. It’s a tricky one and getting trickier by the day.”
Liam nodded and bit into the éclair that Nicky had finally given him permission to take.
“OK. I’m going to update you then I’ll hand over to Davy, Annette and Liam in turn.”
Craig started reporting, first of all on Fintan Delaney’s death, then on the woman they’d seen on the CCTV; Jennifer Weston. He brushed past the shock of the people who didn’t already know and nodded at Davy to chip in. Davy scratched his head for a moment before starting. It was a gesture that said ‘I’m puzzled’, not about the findings but about what they meant.
“Fintan Delaney died s…sometime this morning, best estimates from witnesses and Dr W…Winter say around seven a.m. Dr Winter is adamant that it was murder; there’s nothing on the P.M. that s…says natural causes, but there’s nothing that gives an obvious cause of death either. No knife or bullet w…wounds, so we’re probably looking at poison.”
Craig cut in. “The tox-screen will be back by tomorrow lunchtime. Until then John has no idea what the poison was. Des is working on the method of introduction.”
Davy nodded. “Poison w…would make sense. Jennifer Weston was dressed in a light nurse’s uniform and poison is all that could have been easily concealed.” He reached over to his desk and lifted a folder, distributing the sheets inside. “You’ll see three s…sheets; the top two are the ward CCTV pictures of W…Weston entering and leaving Delaney’s room and all the data we have on her to date.”
Liam let out a low “Hmmm…”
Craig took the bait. “OK, shoot, Liam.”
“Well… she’s made no attempt to hide her face from the camera. In fact she actually turned tow
ards it, like she was taking a selfie.”
Annette cut in. “She doesn’t care if we I.D. her.”
Liam nodded. “And you know what that means.”
Carmen watched the interchange curiously. Craig’s team were so familiar with each other that they almost spoke in shorthand. It was impressive.
Craig answered Liam. “She’s already out of the country.”
“Aye and somewhere that we can’t touch her as well.”
Craig nodded glumly. It was unlikely they’d never see Jennifer Weston again, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t have a damn good try. He turned back to what they could tackle right away.
“Davy?”
Davy had listened to the exchange calmly, knowing that Craig never veered too far from the point.
“OK. The point is that w…we believe Weston killed Fintan Delaney and perhaps her method will give us some more clues about her. Now we need to find out why s…she killed him.” He tapped a finger on Weston’s biography. “Weston and Delaney both went to Queen’s but she’d left by the time Delaney arrived. She studied Theology and we know that Delaney w…was heavily involved with his faith, so I’m checking if they were in any religious groups together, but the university office is closed today.”
Annette interrupted. “If Weston went abroad after her nurse training, do we know where?”
Davy shook his head. “Not s…so far. I’m running the airline passenger databases but I think the quickest w…way to find out is to ask her family.” He nodded at his page. “Their details are on there.”
Davy paused for a moment, considering whether he’d finished with Jennifer Weston. A barely perceptible shrug said that he had. He turned to page three of his hand-out.
“OK. This is the most up-to-date info on the forensics from Papyrus. Three of the blast victims have been identified and Fintan Delaney was, until this morning, the only s…survivor. The fourth bomb victim is so far unknown but Dr Winter is working on the DNA and I’m hoping to get the s…street and traffic-cam info through tomorrow, so we should be able to see who entered and left the shop that day.”
The Careless Word (#8 - The Craig Crime Series) Page 14
