The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series)

by Catriona King

  Ross shook her head and a proud smile tilted her lips.

  “He’ll never retire. Men like that never do.”

  Craig furrowed his brow. Interesting. She was using the present tense even though Annette’s question had been in the past. It was as if Ross believed, or knew, that Oliver Bwye was still alive. The P.A. continued.

  “Mr Bwye has several business interests. He’s on the board of two companies and he has a portfolio of shares to handle. I’m nearly as busy now as when we worked at The Chronicle.”

  Annette nodded. It explained all the paperwork they’d found. “We’ll need the names of the companies and details of what his roles were.”

  Ross lurched forward so suddenly that Annette jerked back in her seat. But her intent was far from violent if her shocked expression was any guide.

  “Were! You said were! Is Mr Bwye dead? Is he dead? Have you found him?”

  Ross had only just noticed that Annette was discussing Oliver Bwye in the past tense. Annette corrected her use of tense as if it had been in error.

  “I apologise, Ms Ross, it was a slip of the tongue. I meant what his roles are. We haven’t located anyone yet.”

  As the secretary relaxed, Annette grew even more convinced of her innocence. A sharp glance from Craig told her not to; Bernadette Ross could be playing them, it wouldn’t be the first time they’d had a liar or an actor in the interview room. Annette gave Ross a moment to recover before she carried on.

  “Are you working on anything special for Mr Bwye?”

  Ross thought for a moment and then shook her head. “No more than usual. Just clearing the minutes of Board meetings and making arrangements for his business trip to the States in Janu ––” A sharp sob cut her short and she was silent for a moment before continuing in a firmer voice, glaring at Annette as if she dared her to disagree. “January. He’s going to New York.”

  Tempted as she was to do so, Annette knew there was no point delving into Oliver Bwye’s business dealings until Davy had checked everything out. It was time to get personal. She lined up her pen with the edge of the file in front of her and fixed the other woman’s eyes with hers.

  “When did you last see Mr Bwye?”

  “Last Wednesday lunchtime at around one o’clock.”

  “Why not after that?”

  “He was going to play a round of golf.”

  “Where?”

  “The golf-club at Drumahoe.”

  “With whom?”

  “With one of the golf pros I believe, although I couldn’t swear to that.”

  Annette stared at her pen as she considered her next question. It was a Waterman, a gift from Mike. He gave her gifts all the time; he was that sort of man. She raised her eyes back to Ross’ pale face, searching hard for anything she could find there. Liam had briefed them about Oliver Bwye’s drinking at the golf-club that Wednesday and John Ellis’ assertion that Bwye was an aggressive drunk. She wondered if the P.A.’s obvious loyalty to her boss would be strong enough to make her lie.

  “How was Mr Bwye when you last saw him?”

  Ross looked puzzled, as if it was a trick question. “He…he was fine. Looking forward to his golf.”

  Annette decided on a diversion before the main event. “And Mrs Bwye and her daughter; how had they been recently?”

  Ross glanced away and Annette knew she was either embarrassed or preparing a deceit. Her tapping feet beneath the table said that whichever it was it was making her stressed. Ross kept her eyes averted as she answered in a sad voice.

  “Mrs Bwye is a lovely lady.”

  That was it. No mention of Jane, but the omission and tone were enough; Jane Bwye caused her parents trouble and Diana Bwye had suffered because of it. Annette wondered if upsetting her mother had been enough reason for Oliver Bwye to harm his daughter. She decided a direct approach was best.

  “Was Mr Bwye ever violent towards his daughter?”

  Ross jerked back in her chair and her gaze skittered around the room, searching for somewhere safer to alight than Annette’s face. Annette repeated the question in a stern voice.

  “Look at me, Ms Ross. Was Mr Bwye ever violent to Jane?”

  Her tone snapped the P.A.’s gaze back to her face and after a moment’s stare Ross nodded once.

  “And to his wife?”

  Another nod.

  “I need details, Ms Ross.”

  Bernadette Ross gabbled wildly. “He’s very good to them, they get everything that they need… it was only when he drank. Jane’s…she’s difficult…she upset Diana, but then Diana would stand up for her and Mr Bwye would…”

  She shook her head and Annette nodded, knowing that they would get the full details bit by bit, probably once they’d found them all dead. Right now it seemed like a betrayal too far for the faithful P.A.

  Craig nodded at her to change tack.

  “Last Wednesday.”

  Ross smiled weakly, grateful to be let off the hook. “Yes?”

  “After he went to play golf, you didn’t see Mr Bwye again?”

  Ross shook her head sadly. “No.”

  “What about Mrs Bwye or Jane?”

  She thought for a moment and then nodded. “I was working until six-thirty on Wednesday and Diana popped in at around five to offer me something to eat.” She smiled, remembering. “She’s like that. Very kind.”

  “Did you have something?”

  “Yes. I had a sandwich with her before returning to work.”

  Craig had been listening silently but now he intervened. “How was she?”

  Ross looked surprised. “Diana?”

  “Yes.”

  “She looked…tired. Yes, she looked tired. And worried.”

  Craig pushed her for details. “Any idea what about?”

  To his surprise Ross laughed. It was a weary laugh, as if there could only be one answer.

  “The only thing that ever worried Diana was Jane.”

  “Did she confide in you?”

  Ross hesitated as if wondering whether or not to keep Diana Bwye’s secret, then she nodded.

  “She told me that Jane was involved with a man that she knew her husband would think unsuitable.”

  “So Mr Bwye didn’t know about him?”

  Ross’ eyes widened. “Absolutely not. He would have killed him. Jane was his little girl.”

  Even though he hit her. Had his objections been paternal protectiveness or something more?

  “What was so unsuitable about Jane’s boyfriend?”

  Ross shook her head. “Diana didn’t tell me; just that Mr Bwye would think that he was. I went back to work after that.”

  “She didn’t mention the man’s name?”

  “No.”

  Craig needed time to think so he waved Annette to pick up the ball. She slipped back into the Q&A seamlessly.

  “Did you see Mrs Bwye again?”

  Ross smiled weakly. “I nodded goodbye as I left that night. She was sitting in front of the TV in the main room.”

  “Why do you say sitting in front of, rather than watching?”

  Well spotted.

  “Because it was switched off.”

  It was logical.

  “Was she reading or doing something else?”

  “No. Just sitting, staring at the floor.”

  Diana Bwye didn’t sound like a happy woman.

  “And Jane?”

  “I saw her as I left. She was entering the drive as I was leaving. In her little sports car.”

  Annette startled. There’d been no sports car parked at the house.

  “What does she drive?”

  “A blue Mercedes SLK.”

  “We’ll need the registration number.”

  “I know it by heart. JB1993; the year that she was born. She’s twenty-one soon.”

  Craig jotted it down and left the interview room. John Ellis was at the front desk, chatting to a woman through the glass. He excused himself and turned to Craig.

  “John, is ther
e a search on for Jane Bwye’s car?”

  Ellis looked blank.

  “It’s a blue SLK and it was last seen at the house the evening the family disappeared. It isn’t there now. Here’s the reg.”

  Ellis took the paper and lifted the phone, beginning the search while Craig returned to the interview room, irritated. Why the hell hadn’t Julia checked the family’s cars? She’d dropped the ball badly on this case, it wasn’t like her; maybe the wedding was occupying her mind. By the time he’d re-joined the interview, Annette had changed topic to the Thursday morning.

  “When you arrived at the house, how did you enter?”

  “Through the front door into the main room. It’s the only way in.”

  “That’s not strictly true. There’s a door at the back of the study.”

  “That’s always kept locked. Only Mr Bwye has the key and only he and I have the key to the interior study door.”

  Annette frowned. It seemed like excessive security not to leave a spare set in the house.

  “So Jane and Mrs Bwye never entered the study?”

  Ross shook her head emphatically. “Never. They weren’t allowed.”

  She hesitated for a moment and Annette knew she had something else to say. She decided against it and the moment passed. No amount of urging from Annette could bring it back.

  “OK. When you entered the house that morning did you notice anything out of place in the main room?”

  Ross concentrated, as if she was running her gaze mentally across every table and chair. Finally she shook her head. “Not that I saw, but then I just walked straight through to the study. But if the place had been badly disrupted, like in a fight, I would definitely have noticed.”

  “Was the study door open or locked?”

  “Definitely open. But it was eight-thirty so that wasn’t unusual. Mr Bwye always arrived before me.”

  “Tell me what you noticed when you entered.”

  “Like I told the other officer; there was blood on the floor and things were all over the place. The chairs were turned over and the television was smashed…”

  Annette interrupted, checking her facts. “Why was there a TV in the study? I thought it was just where Mr Bwye worked.”

  Ross stared at her as if the answer was obvious. “Well yes, but Mr Bwye likes to watch the business news, to keep an eye on the stock market, and things.”

  And things. It sounded weak and Craig wondered what other things Oliver Bwye had watched on that screen.

  “Did he go in there when he’d had a fight with his wife?”

  Ross shrugged. “Probably. I wasn’t there at evenings or weekends so I can’t say for sure.”

  “Did he do anything else in there?”

  Ross blushed. “That’s not my business. He’s a good boss.”

  And things. Craig speculated about what bodily fluids the C.S.I.s would find in the study other than blood while Annette drew the questioning back to the Thursday morning.

  “What else did you notice in the study when you entered?”

  Ross sighed. “There were books on the floor with their pages torn out.”

  “Torn by hand or like they’d fallen out when they’d been flung?”

  Ross shook her head as if she was confused and Annette let it drop. Forensics would give them their answer.

  The P.A. shuddered, remembering. “There was so much blood. It was everywhere…smeared in a trail towards the back door, like someone had dragged…”

  A harsh sob cut her short and Annette waited until it subsided.

  “What did you do?”

  The ambiguity of the question was deliberate and the secretary glanced at her with startled eyes.

  “I didn’t do anything! I’ve never hurt anyone!”

  Annette repeated her question, adding “next” for clarity. Ross’ shoulders dropped in relief.

  “I called 999 and waited for the police.”

  “You stayed in the study?”

  “I couldn’t move.”

  It seemed a normal enough response and a glance from Craig told Annette to wrap things up. While Bernadette Ross was given a fresh cup of tea, Craig and Annette retired to the staff room for one of their own. Craig spoke first.

  “What do you make of her?”

  Annette sipped her drink before replying. “I think she knows a lot more about Oliver Bwye’s nasty habits than she’s willing to say. I’d be surprised if he didn’t have a mistress stashed away somewhere and he obviously drinks heavily.”

  Craig nodded. “Davy’s checking the hospitals for reports of violence on the wife and daughter.”

  “It figures. A man with a type A personality retires; he was never going to find it easy to wind down.”

  Craig’s glare said it was no excuse. “That’s presupposing that the abuse has only been happening since then. My hunch is it’s been going on for years. OK, what else?”

  “If there have been mistresses I don’t think Ross is one of them.”

  “Based on what?”

  “Based on the fact that she’s not glamourous enough. Diana Bwye’s pictures show that she’s beautiful, so it’s likely that’s where Bwye’s taste in women lies.”

  Craig shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. For some men a change is…” He didn’t complete the saying.

  She arched an eyebrow and carried on. “The daughter’s obviously wayward so we need to dig further there. I’d like to know more about this unsuitable man she was dating who was worrying her mum so much, and whether her father had found out about him. Also, where’s Jane’s car?”

  “And why the hell didn’t the locals pick up on it and start the search last week?”

  Craig’s face said someone’s head was going to roll for the omission and it might be Julia’s. Annette didn’t fancy sitting in on that conversation, although she was certain that Liam would want a ringside seat.

  “What’s your gut feeling on Ross? Guilty or not guilty?”

  She considered for a moment before answering.

  “Not guilty. She’s a loyal retainer who sees everything and keeps her mouth shut because Bwye pays her well. But I’d like to take another run at her on the family dynamics.”

  Craig nodded. “Agreed. Let her go home but say that you want to see her again tomorrow, and this time she’s not leaving until she tells you everything. That’ll give her tonight to consider which side her bread is buttered on. Also, I want you to take her back to the house and have her check that everything’s in place in the main room. We’ll be doing the same with the rest of the staff.” He checked his watch and jumped up. “Damn. It’s nearly one o’clock. I’m going to be late for the C.C.”

  Annette smiled and shook her head. “No you’re not. His office rang and asked if you could meet him at home in Portrush rather than going back to Belfast. It’s only thirty miles so you’ll be there in plenty of time.”

  Craig nodded but he didn’t retake his seat, heading for the door instead. “Fine. You’ve all got plenty to get on with. Ask Davy to book everyone into a cheap hotel and let me know which one. I’ve things to do but I’ll meet you there for dinner around six. And warn everyone I expect a full briefing afterwards.”

  Chapter Six

  Sean Flanagan rose as Craig entered his warm, smoke-aged study, but not out of respect for Craig. He liked him but not that much, or next thing he’d be inviting him to the prom! No, Flanagan stood because his wife had shown Craig into the room and even after forty years of marriage he had that kind of respect for her. Craig could understand why. Helen Flanagan was feminine in a way that made most men long for a woman like her, and some women dismiss her as a throwback to the 1950s, before feminism had really left its mark. They would be wrong if they thought that. In fact, they couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Helen Flanagan hadn’t been a stay at home wife, warming her husband’s slippers by the fire, she’d been a teacher of such skill that she’d won the teacher of the year award twice. All while bringing up two children and deal
ing with a rugby playing, gun-toting cop of a husband, during decades of some of the worst civil strife the western world had ever seen.

  To have managed it at all was miraculous; to have managed it without shouting at or divorcing that husband was a canonisable achievement. And yet she had. With a combination of well-placed head shaking, wise words and arched eyebrows, Helen Flanagan had ruled her home for four decades without any of her family ever feeling controlled. Forget equality, in this marriage she was most decidedly the boss. The woman deserved more than a husband who rose when she entered the room; she deserved a baton twirling parade.

  As Craig and Flanagan shook hands she glanced tolerantly at the study’s open window on the cold winter’s day, knowing full well that a half-lit cigar was smouldering somewhere out of sight. It didn’t require comment. Sean Flanagan knew it was bad for his heart and his wife knew that he knew, so she brought in a tray of coffee things and retired, leaving her burly husband in no doubt that she’d smelled the smoke without uttering a word.

  The Chief Constable laughed and waved Craig to a chair, retrieving his cigar from the metal waste bin he’d purchased specially for such subterfuge.

  “I’ll get told off after you leave.”

  Craig nodded. “Looks that way.”

  “Does your young lady tell you off?”

  Craig smiled, thinking of Katy. He suddenly realised what felt so familiar about Mrs Flanagan’s approach. It certainly wasn’t because she reminded him of his mother; Mirella’s fieriness would have resulted in the bin being hurled out the window and it being slammed shut. No, Helen Flanagan reminded him of Katy; they had the same even tempered approach to life.

  “In exactly the way you’ve just been chastised.”

  Flanagan laughed. “Hang on to her, then. It makes life easier all round.” He poured the coffee before retaking his seat. “Now then, what did you need to see me about?”

  Craig took a sip from his cup and set it back down. “Two things. The case is the main one. We were asked for assistance by D.I. McNulty at Limavady.”

  Flanagan frowned. “I was sorry to hear that you two had split up. She’s a striking girl. Terry Harrison’s an obstructive bugger but I couldn’t go over his head on her transfer, much as I wanted to.”