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

by Catriona King

  “OK, thanks. Anything on the unidentified victim in Papyrus?”

  John’s face lit up. “Now there I can help you. We withdrew DNA from the scaphoid bones and other tissue in the debris and by eliminating McGovern, Robinson, Greer and Delaney that left us with a fifth DNA; male. The database kicked out a name this afternoon.”

  Craig didn’t want to spoil John’s big reveal but they were pressed for time. “And?”

  “And it belonged to a Saudi national called Ibrahim Kouri. Davy’s running the checks on him now.”

  A squeak that passed for Annette’s voice cut across the room. “Saudi? Are you sure?”

  All eyes turned to her.

  “Yes. He was listed as Saudi. Why?”

  Annette’s eyes were wide with shock; not at John’s discovery but at the way things were falling into place. “SNI stands for Saudi Northern Ireland.”

  Craig’s eyes widened as well. “What the hell are the Saudis doing developing in Belfast?”

  Annette was about to answer when Des asked an even simpler question. “Who the heck are SNI?”

  Craig suddenly realised that some people in the room knew nothing about the developers so he gave them a crash course. “The bookshop owner was being extorted by paramilitaries running a protection racket. UKUF; the UK Ulster Force.”

  Des shot Craig a sceptical look. “The what?”

  “They were the UKF but they renamed themselves after the flag protests at the end of 2012.”

  Des snorted. “Acronyms are us.”

  Craig pushed through the laughter that followed. “Yep. Anyway, one of the bomb victims was Sharon ‘Sharpy’ Greer, the head of UKUF since her husband David died.”

  “Caught in her own bomb?”

  Craig shook his head. “I don’t think so. Even they’re not that stupid, although there is some word of the son wanting his mother to step aside and let him take over.”

  Liam leaned forward to interrupt but Craig waved him back.

  “Liam will tell us about that in a moment. Anyway, as well as the UKUF protection racket there was a firm of developers interested in Smithfield and they wanted to clear the terrace of shops that Papyrus was in. All the shop owners had agreed to sell except for Jules Robinson.”

  Des interjected. “And the developers are called SNI.”

  Craig nodded. “It’s only this afternoon that we’d found out what the S stood for. John, let me come back to you in a minute. I’d like Annette to tell us what she found out.”

  Annette flicked open her notebook and started to report about Hilary Stenson. “SNI was putting serious pressure on the final two shopkeepers to sell and they were working with UKUF to achieve it. They’d paid them thirty thousand up front with another thirty when each shop was closed.”

  “Compensation for UKUF losing the protection money from the shops?

  Annette nodded. “And a little on top. But Stenson denies that SNI authorised a bomb.”

  Liam smiled. “Well she would, wouldn’t she? To paraphrase Mandy Rice-Davies.”

  Davy had been sitting quietly during the briefing, alternately doodling on his notepad and chewing on his nails. Now he spoke. “Mandy Rice w…who?”

  Liam nodded knowingly. “Before your time, son. Back when women were women.”

  Craig shook his head in disbelief at Liam’s ever-permanent foot in mouth. He considered giving him a lecture on sexism but he couldn’t be bothered. Liam knew exactly what not to say, he just enjoyed saying it anyway.

  “Carry on, Annette.”

  “There wasn’t much more, sir. I believe Stenson that she knows nothing about the bomb but we’ll have to check out the rest of the Board.”

  “And check that none of the Saudi members have disappeared, given what John just said about the DNA.”

  Craig thought for a moment. The Saudis had bought up or developed most of London, was Northern Ireland their next port of call? Annette read his mind.

  “Hilary Stenson said that SNI was interested in property everywhere in the UK. I’ve had a quick look and their developments look legitimate, even if their land clearance tactics aren’t.”

  John sipped his fresh tea and leapt into a natural break in the exchange.

  “OK, so UKUF was running protection, but unless Zac Greer wanted his mother dead, why blow up the shop with her in it? SNI wanted the building cleared but Stenson said that they wouldn’t have blown it up, and if they were going to, why do it with a Saudi national inside?”

  Craig nodded. UKUF and SNI weren’t responsible for the explosion. He had his own theory about who was but he was keeping it quiet until the evidence pointed that way. Craig turned to Liam, who was still chortling over his earlier joke, then just as quickly he turned back to Annette, narrowing his eyes.

  “Who went with you to SNI, Annette?”

  Annette blushed. “Well Liam was busy so…”

  “So you thought you’d disregard my direct order and go alone, with all the risk that entailed?”

  The whole group fell silent as Craig glared at her. Annette gazed down at her feet and said nothing. After a moment Craig shook his head.

  “I’ll speak to you later. Liam, carry on.”

  Nicky gazed sympathetically at Annette but Craig was right. Her encounter with Hilary Stenson could easily have turned nasty.

  “Aye, well, UKUF. I paid them a wee visit and Zac Greer’s in High Street now, waiting for me to give the word to let him go.”

  Craig’s eyes widened. “What are you holding him on?”

  “I’m not. I brought him in to answer a few questions which he did willingly, enough to convince me that he hasn’t a Scooby-Doo about the bomb. He just moaned about the fact they’d lost the protection income from the bookshop.”

  “So his mother hadn’t told him about the deal with SNI?”

  “Seems not, and for a man who’s the solicitor for both UKUF and SNI, Trimble was keeping his mouth firmly shut.” Liam nodded at Craig. “Did you get anything from Trimble?”

  Craig shrugged. “He admitted that he’d been working for both groups, which we already knew, but said that UKUF only ran legitimate businesses.”

  “Aye, if you call drugs and girls legitimate.”

  “Precisely. Trimble’s worried because he knows that we’re looking at him now. I’ll be getting Fraud to take a look at everyone’s books once we wrap our case up. As far as SNI’s concerned Trimble pretty much echoed what Hilary Stenson told Annette. That they’re interested in developing land across the UK and will pay a lot to get what they want.”

  “But not plant bombs.”

  Craig nodded. “Not that.”

  Annette interrupted quietly. “That still doesn’t explain why Zac Greer’s still at High Street.”

  Liam’s cheerful face clouded and his voice took on a solemn tone. “Because it became clear while I was talking to him that the lad had no idea that his mother was dead.”

  John’s jaw dropped. He’d forgotten to contact Sharon Greer’s next of kin! It was an unforgivable error. “Oh crap! Crap, crap, crap.”

  Nicky gawped at him. John rarely swore, unlike Liam who swore enough for ten men. John was gabbling.

  “This is my fault. As soon as I identified Greer’s DNA I should have contacted the family. It’s unforgivable of me.”

  Craig shook his head. It was a lapse but an understandable one. They’d only found out it was Sharon Greer’s DNA two days before and they still didn’t know if her son had ordered her hit.

  “Liam, did you tell the boy about his mother?”

  Liam shook his head. “He was conferring with Trimble. I’ll go back and do it after this.”

  “How sure are you that he didn’t order her death?”

  “If he did then he’s the best liar I’ve ever seen. My gut says he knew nothing about it.”

  Craig’s heart sank; Liam’s gut instinct was rarely wrong and his own was in agreement. He snapped out instructions.

  “OK, Liam, take Annette to High Stree
t with you. Ask the boy leading questions and when there’s an opening, talk about the explosion and the victims before leading into his mother’s death. Trimble’s going to ask when we knew. Don’t lie but say that we wanted to be sure before we caused any distress. Annette, help with the soft stuff here please and have another word with Hilary Stenson if she’s still there. Especially ask her about any Saudi members on the Board, I want their whereabouts checked ASAP. And run the name Ibrahim Kouri past her.”

  He turned towards John. He was frowning and shaking his head.

  “There’s no point in the boy coming to the mortuary, Marc, there’s nothing left to I.D. It’s going to be a closed coffin.”

  Annette cut in. “We’ll have to involve social services, sir. I don’t care if Zac heads up a criminal empire now, he’s under sixteen and both his parents are dead. Unless he has another relative, he’ll…”

  End up in care. Liam groaned. They all knew what that meant; Zac might learn even worse habits than he already had. Even worse, with Sharpy gone and Zac still only a kid, internal rivalries would surface within UKUF. Liam vocalised his thoughts.

  “There’ll be a leadership race and that’ll mean gang warfare.”

  Craig nodded heavily. “I’ll notify Geoff Hamill in Gang Crime and get uniform to keep a presence around the headquarters. There’s nothing else we can do. Annette’s right, the boy’s welfare has to come first.”

  The rest of the briefing passed in a flurry of reporting and conjecture until at five-past-five Craig was almost ready to wind up. He turned to the quiet man of the group and smiled. Davy was always quiet but never more so than when he had something surprising to report.

  “Davy?”

  The lanky Emo roused himself from his semi-recumbent position and lifted a set of hand-outs at his feet, passing them around the group. Craig flicked through the pages.

  “What are we looking at?”

  Davy smiled. “Images from the s…street cameras and CCTV around Papyrus. The back sheet is Fintan Delaney’s phone logs for the last six months. I’m still working on his computer.”

  They peered at the grainy images, but even John’s extra strong glasses couldn’t see what Davy was looking so pleased about. Carmen caught his eye and smiled. She’d seen it.

  Davy adopted a patient tone and started to talk through the shots. “In the first image you can see Gresham S…Street outside Papyrus at ten-past-five last Thursday morning, the day of the explosion. There’s a dark-coloured car parked up. Image two w…was taken at five-forty, thirty minutes later. The car has gone. Image three was taken at five-thirty-five, just before it left and s…shows two men climbing into the car. Yes?”

  Everyone peered harder at the images and nodded, taking Davy’s word for the fact that the dark blobs were what he said.

  “OK. Turn the page. You’ll see three more images that w…were taken in the alley at the back of the shop. They show two men walking down the alley towards Papyrus, then opening the back door and entering. They reappear twenty minutes later. They’re wearing balaclavas, s…so it’s impossible to see their faces.”

  Liam cut in. “The back door was shut during the explosion. So how did they get in?”

  Davy shook his head. “Des and I are s…still working on that, but it’s obvious that they did.”

  Liam was about to ask something else when Craig glared him down.

  “Go ahead, Davy.”

  “OK. Now turn to your third sheet. It s…shows images taken inside the shop.”

  It was Craig’s turn to interrupt. “How did you get these? Surely the CCTV in the shop was blown up with everything else?”

  Davy smiled. “It w…was, but for some reason Jules Robinson had his CCTV on a back-up. It uploaded images to the Cloud every thirty minutes. W…We have everything from the moment the men entered the shop till the next day at two p.m. They’re not great images and I’ve only got as far as this first set but I’ll have the other images analysed for you s…soon.”

  Annette leaned in. “Do you think Robinson was trying to compile evidence on his extortion by UKUF, sir?”

  “Either that or he was very security minded.”

  “He was a cop for thirty years, boss.”

  “True, but I’m more inclined to go with Annette’s theory, Liam. Ask his wife what she knows about it, please.” He waved Davy on.

  “OK, look at the images. The two men appear inside the s…shop at five-twelve a.m. on Thursday morning and stay at the back of the shop, in the area we know the bomb was planted.”

  Carmen interrupted cautiously. “Can we back to the image of them breaking in, Davy? Is one of them carrying something?”

  Craig scrutinized the picture for a moment then gave a triumphant yell. “Yes, you’re right. Look. There!”

  Everyone looked where he was pointing. Carmen was right, while one man opened the shop’s back door the second one withdrew a package from a dark bag across his shoulder, so dark that no-one had noticed it before. The image inside the shop showed him depositing it beneath a tall bookshelf at the rear.

  Davy smiled. His slow reveal had been blown by Carmen’s eagle eye. He moved quickly to his computers and tapped on his central screen, fast forwarding Papyrus’ CCTV tape and then beckoning everyone to gather round. The video started with a man kneeling behind a tall bookshelf and setting something down, obviously the bomb. As he started to rise, he banged his head hard against a shelf. There was no sound with the image but the blow was so hard that they could almost hear it, and the expletives that followed.

  But it was the next image that really shocked the group. The man rubbed furiously at his head and then, in a moment of pain and frustration, he ripped-off his balaclava, revealing his face. He covered his mistake quickly, pulling it back on, but not quickly enough to stop them all recognising him. It was Fintan Delaney! Delaney had planted the bomb in the shop!

  But why had he returned the next day and risked his own death? And why was he later killed? Had he been supposed to die in the explosion and changed his mind? Craig sat silent amidst the noisy debate that followed, letting everyone speculate while he gathered his thoughts. Eventually he smiled and turned back to his analyst.

  “Brilliant work, Davy. I presume Delaney’s phone logs confirm it?”

  “Yes and no. From w…what we know so far we’d expect to see calls from Delaney to S…Saudi or SNI, if Delaney was taking money from them to plant the bomb.”

  Craig shook his head. If he was sure of one thing it was that Fintan Delaney hadn’t planted the bomb for money or for SNI. Davy was still talking.

  “But his only unusual calls were to Pakistan. S…So I’m confused.”

  Craig caught Liam’s eye and they exchanged a smile. “OK, this is great work, everyone. Davy, that was outstanding, but we could sit here and speculate all night and learn nothing more. I have a theory but I’m not ready to share it just yet. Keep following the leads and let’s see where we get to.”

  Liam went to say something just as Craig glanced at the clock.

  “It’s almost five-thirty and Liam and Annette need to get to High Street. Des, thanks for coming; let me know what you get from the photograph. John, could you join me for a moment. Everyone else go home; we’re back in bright and early at eight a.m.”

  Before Liam could voice his objection Craig was on his way to his office with John, and Nicky was clearing away cups and plates with deliberate noise. Liam harrumphed and shot Annette a look that said the discussion wasn’t over, but as the group dispersed he knew he’d have to continue it another day.

  Craig entered his office and went straight for his ever-full percolator, flicking it on before he sat down. John walked past him to the wall of windows that gave the room a panoramic view of the Lagan and Belfast’s docks. The docks were busy and getting busier by the week as the powers that be finally realised that Bronze Age man had built Belfast by the sea for a reason, and that people had made their homes on either side of the Lagan for one as well. Riv
ers brought trade, travel and a sense of possibility. They could be thoroughfares or recreational venues, encourage movement and throw a city’s arms open to the world, saying come and see. The docks in Belfast had been buzzing once and now they were starting to buzz again. Cruise ships disgorged their visitors between March and October, ships and oil rigs came for repair and fitting out, using skills honed over centuries to make short work of the jobs. Even wind farms had their turbines built in Belfast nowadays and Craig had a window on it all.

  “I’d kill for this view, Marc. My office is so closed in.”

  Craig gave a rueful smile. “I think there’s been enough murder this week. Coffee?”

  “Only if you’ve got some milk. Your coffee’s strong enough to give me lock-jaw.”

  Craig pointed to a small carton behind the filing cabinet, the coolest place in the room.

  “For the wimps.”

  When they’d sipped their coffee for a moment John spoke. “Natalie’s being very secretive. I think she’s finally found her dress.”

  Craig shook his head, knowing that his friend was fishing and that it was more than his life was worth to disclose what Katy had told him. “I’m saying nothing.”

  John leaned forward eagerly. “Ah ha! That means you know something.”

  Craig raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe it means I’m saying nothing because I’ve got nothing to say.”

  “Huh! You know all right. Katy’s been with Natalie every step of the way. They have it all planned. Well, them and Natalie’s mum. Anyone would think I had nothing to do with this wedding!”

  The increased height of Craig’s eyebrow said he was surprised that John had ever thought he had. Natalie’s mother Isabel was a force of nature. A tiny, dark-haired clone of her daughter, or vice versa to be more accurate. They had the same voice, the same mannerisms and the same dynamic approach to life. Together they could create a force of hurricane magnitude and it would be a very brave man who stood in their way.

  Craig smiled as he thought of them together, organising the wedding down to the smallest detail, while Natalie’s father, the quiet, academic Bernard, clung on for dear life like Dorothy caught in the tornado. Out of control, powerless and never knowing where he was going to land. John was more like Bernard Ingrams than he knew, and just like Bernard he was signing on for the ride of his life.