Liam was undeterred. “Why not just put her in the van with her folks?”
Craig interrupted. “That would mean there were at least two assailants.”
Andy screwed up his face, confused, then he nodded as he saw what Craig meant. “Ah, I see. One to drive the van and one to drive the car, hey.”
Craig nodded. “If they split up that means they were sure they had the Bwyes under control in the van.” He thought for a moment then nodded Davy to take notes on his pad.
“OK. Bernadette Ross said that she saw Diana and Jane Bwye on Wednesday evening when she left at six-thirty. Oliver Bwye was still up at the golf-club. We know from Liam’s conversation with John Ellis that Bwye got fighting drunk and returned home from the club in a cab.” He glanced at Liam. “What time was that?”
“Nine-twenty. I checked with the taxi firm. It’s a twenty-five minute ride.”
“OK, good. So we know that Oliver Bwye arrived home sometime around nine-forty-five on Wednesday night, drunk and fired up after his fracas at the golf-club. How fired up is the question?”
“You mean was he fired up enough to kill his wife and child?”
Craig shrugged. Family annihilation was still a possibility but not one by which he set great store.
“I doubt it but we have to look at the likelihood. So Bwye comes in drunk, there’s an argument with Diana and Jane and he assaults them both. Then he mocks up the scene to look like all three have been assaulted and disappears with the two women.” He glanced at the row of faces. “Comments or suggestions anyone?”
Davy was the first to reply. “I w…was going to tell you, chief. Bwye has alcohol stashed all over his s…study.”
Craig nodded him on.
“You remember the bookshelves? Well, every shelf has at least one book that’s a fake, holding a half bottle of whisky. I found nine of them dotted around and there are probably more.”
Liam let out a whistle and held up his beer. “Whisky beats beer any day.”
Annette leaned in eagerly, adding fuel to the fire. “Ross hinted that Bwye gets up to more than business in that room. She said ‘things’ when we interviewed her.”
Andy’s eyes widened. “Women?”
Liam guffawed. “Don’t sound so shocked, man. It has been known.”
Annette nodded. “We need to dig further. What if there’s a mistress and Bwye wanted to leave his wife but not give her any money? He could have killed Diana and Jane, faked their deaths, got rid of their bodies and then run off with the mistress. Bwye was the only one with a key to both the gun cabinet and the back door, and if the mistress helped then that could explain Jane’s car being driven away and destroyed.”
Liam gawped. “So he set up all these false trails to throw us off?”
Annette nodded sagely. “Bwye’s a clever man. It wouldn’t be beyond him.”
Andy jumped in. “They could be in the south of France by now!”
Craig had let them run with the theory to hear what emerged. Now he raised a hand, before it turned into the plot of a Bond movie.
“Let’s not get carried away. Annette’s raised some valid points. Bwye was an angry, violent drunk, and I’m positive we’ll find evidence of domestic abuse, but it’s a way from there to killing his wife and child. We need to find out if there was a mistress and if Bwye had told anyone he wanted out of the marriage; see where the forensics on the house and car lead and check the background on his business dealings and phone dumps. Bernadette Ross mentioned a secret boyfriend of Jane’s that Diana was worried about Bwye disapproving of; who is he? We need the interviews with the other staff members to put together a better picture of that night and we still have the searches and the possibility of a ransom call, so let’s not discount all of that.”
Annette was still reluctant to give up her theory of Bwye as a guilty man. Her own experience of domestic violence had resulted in a fractured hand and her husband Pete being held for trial. She had zero tolerance with violent men nowadays.
“But you’re not ruling out Bwye, sir.”
Craig shook his head gently, knowing what was fuelling her determination. “I’m not ruling him out or in yet, Annette. Your theory could prove to be true, but so could the daughter’s partner being responsible for this. And before you ask why, I don’t know yet. Maybe money. Equally this could have been a home invasion by complete strangers who wanted money and we could still get a ransom call, or maybe it’s a revenge attack by someone that The Chronicle hacked off. The fact is we don’t have enough evidence to rule on anything yet.”
Andy raised a finger to interject. Craig smiled at his politeness; everyone else just barged right in.
“Go ahead, Andy.”
“About The Chronicle. You know that Judge Standish gave us the warrant for the phone lines, hey.”
Liam grinned. “God bless him.”
Craig nodded. “Yes, I heard. Well done.”
Andy furrowed his brow. “Aye well, don’t get too excited. I’ve had a call from a mate at Laganside Courts. The Chronicle’s already filed an appeal.”
Craig sighed. Another court appearance that he didn’t need. “It was inevitable. When, and who’s appearing?”
“Someone called Ray Mercer’s going to court. Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”
Craig sighed again; it was drowned out by Liam’s louder one.
“Is Mercer’s the only name on it?”
Andy shook his head. “Cameron Lawton; the editor-in-chief. You need to know that he and Standish have history. I thought the Judge looked very pleased as he signed the warrant so I decided to dig; he and Lawton went to school together.”
“Probably kicked him in the nuts during a rugby match and this is Standish’s revenge.”
Annette shook her head in despair. “Delicate as ever.”
But Liam’s crude assessment was closer than anyone knew.
Craig nodded. “Everyone in this country went to school with everyone else; it’s impossible to avoid.”
Annette stage whispered to Andy. “The boss went to school with Dr Winter and D.C.I. Hughes in Vice.”
Andy nodded. “And my sister went to Uni with Teflon’s daughter, but that’s another day’s tale. I just thought you should know, in case Lawton accuses Standish of bias in court.”
Craig raked his thick hair, tired just picturing the scenario. “I need to be there.”
Liam grinned gleefully. “Can I come too, boss? I’d love to watch Mercer get knocked back.”
Craig squinted at him. “Only if you promise to keep quiet. Your mouth could lose us the case.”
Liam tried to look offended but failed. Craig glanced at the clock; it was after nine and they were all tired.
“Right, that’s enough briefing for tonight. Drink, eat, sleep or do whatever you normally do at night, but I want everyone at it bright and early in the morning.”
He rose, motioning Davy to join him. They walked out into the cold night and descended a gravel slope onto a patch of frosty grass. When they were far enough away for no-one to eavesdrop, they sat down on a bench. Craig dispensed with any preamble.
“The Chief Constable and I had a chat about you today. He’s impressed with your work.”
It was hard to tell in the dark but Craig could have sworn that he saw Davy blush.
“I’m impressed as well and I don’t want to lose you from the team, but neither will I stand in the way of you getting your doctorate.”
Davy didn’t know whether to celebrate or say nothing. He settled on the latter and let Craig carry on.
“You’re already on the top of the pay scale for analysts, which in itself is a disgrace; you’re worth far more than that. But it means that the force can’t offer a pay rise to keep you.”
Davy’s heart sank, its descent only slowed by what he hoped was Craig’s impending ‘but’. He was right.
“But, because doing a PhD would cost you thousands in fees, and lost salary while you studied, I managed to persuade the C
.C. that there might be something we could do there.” He glanced at Davy, encouraged by his forward leaning stance. “So…how about you do the PhD part time over a few years and the force gives you time off to study, plus it pays your fees? That way you won’t lose your salary, you don’t have to find the fee money yourself and we get to keep you on the team?”
As Davy inhaled to answer, Craig added hurriedly. “When you have your doctorate you can join the forensic team, even if you decide to stay based with us, and you’ll go onto their pay scale, which is much higher. What do you think?”
Davy paused mid-inhalation and did the sums; it would save him a fortune and it wouldn’t prevent him moving into academia or even doing some private work in the future. In fact he could build up his academic reputation and international consulting as he worked. He didn’t want to leave the squad but he needed to expand his work beyond what they did every day or he would fall asleep.
As he considered, Craig added the final touch. “I thought you might want to do your doctorate on forensic IT applications in the force and government agencies.”
Davy practically squeaked his next words. “You mean MI5?” There was a spy kid in all of them.
Craig shrugged. “Six as well and I’m sure the US agencies would be interested in linking up. It depends what you propose in your research outline I suppose.”
MI5, MI6, the CIA, the FBI, Davy’s mind was running acronyms like Liam’s ran the names of beers. Even in the dark the excitement on his face was unmistakable and he practically shouted his response.
“Yes! Definitely yes. I’ll get onto my Prof and talk it through. If I could outline a proposal about the uses of forensic IT in covert and non-covert…”
Craig smiled as he disappeared into a cloud of science speak and decided that Nicky owed him at least one favour for this.
Chapter S
even
Tuesday, 17th December. 9 a.m.
“… court … in, Nicky?”
Nicky squinted at her phone, trying to make sense of Craig’s words through the static. She’d never been to the Glenshane Pass but its mobile phone reception was driving her mad. Thankfully she spoke Craig.
“Court One at ten o’clock. It’s the one beside the ground floor lift.”
Craig shook his head, all he could make out was ‘ten’ which he already knew and ‘lift’ which didn’t make any sense at all. So he did what people did when confronted with someone they didn’t understand, he shouted. This time Nicky understood. “Text” was fairly unambiguous unless you were a medieval scholar.
Five minutes later Craig knew exactly where he was going and who was likely to be there. The Chronicle was bringing the full weight of its lawyers to bear and he recognised the firm’s name: Cherry and Moss. Each day cost their clients approximately two thousand pounds. Craig wondered idly whether it would be Ronald Lewiston. They’d encountered him on a recent case doing his token pro bono work and even then, knowing that he couldn’t charge, he’d talked and talked. Craig sighed; if Lewiston was there they would be in court all day.
On the side of the angels were Eugene Standish, who’d decided to appear in defence of his warrant, the police lawyers and some big gun from the C.C.’s office: Assistant Chief Constable John Byrne. Craig had never heard of him but if Sean Flanagan had sent him he must be OK. Liam was huffing back in Derry; if he couldn’t say exactly what he wanted to Ray Mercer, he’d decided he might as well stay in the northwest.
By nine-forty Craig had negotiated the traffic in Belfast City Centre and was driving through the back gate of Laganside Courts. A quick park-up and sprint and he’d seated himself in the bright, pine-walled court room just in time. Court One was obviously reserved for minor cases and irritations; they put the really bad boys in the mahogany rooms. He gazed around and saw Eugene Standish robed up as if he was ready to adjudicate on his own appeal. He caught Craig’s eye and winked and Craig realised the robe was the equivalent of him wearing an expensive suit to a particularly difficult interview; there to underline his status and scare his opponents. Twenty-first century Woad.
They were the only ones in the courtroom until, at nine-fifty-eight, with an entrance that would have done a Hollywood blockbuster proud, The Belfast Chronicle’s team appeared. Craig only recognised one of them; Ray Mercer, all weasel-faced, hook-nosed, five-feet-six of him. He strutted in with an air of self-importance that was badly undermined by the way he dressed. Beside him was an expensively clad man of around forty. It wasn’t Ronald Lewiston but he had to be from Cherry and Moss, only an expense account could have afforded that suit. The brief was tall and thin, with an air of world-weariness that said he’d seen it all and thought the case was a waste of his time. The third man in the team was strongly built and regal looking and around Eugene Standish’s age; Cameron Lawton, The Chronicle’s editor-in-chief. Craig watched as he entered quietly behind the others and took a seat in a separate row. Everything about the man said ‘ignore me, I’m not here’ but Craig knew people and that very action made Cameron Lawton the one to watch.
Just then two men appeared by Eugene Standish’s side. One was dressed in black and white, the force’s barrister; the other was a vision of uniformed, shiny-buttoned gravitas, until he smiled, then his stern face softened into someone’s dad’s. He reached across the others to shake Craig’s hand, speaking in a Highland burr.
“You’re Craig, aren’t you?”
Craig nodded.
“I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m A.C.C. Byrne, John. We haven’t met. I’m on secondment from Scotland for two years.”
Craig instantly warmed to him. “How do you like it so far?”
“Great, it doesn’t snow as much here.” Byrne laughed loudly, drawing an angry glance from Mercer. Byrne gestured towards him. “One of those misery loves company types, is he?”
Craig made a face. “And the rest.”
Their conversation was cut short by the clerk announcing “All rise. The court is now in session, the honourable Judge Donaghy presiding.”
Both sides settled down to fight their case and an hour long skirmish ensued, with Ray Mercer yapping like a small dog and the barristers confusing everyone with legalese. Eugene Standish defended his issuing of the warrant, based on Oliver Bwye’s connections with The Chronicle and the likelihood that was where any ransom call would come. They could see Donaghy was impressed by his colleague’s logic, until Cameron Lawton took the stand.
Lawton took his seat in the witness box and nodded deferentially to the judge, smiling the smile of the deliberately underplayed. Craig felt himself go cold. Lawton was going to smash their case to pieces; he could feel it. In a voice so low and soft that everyone strained to hear, Cameron Lawton cited the independence of the press and civil liberties with an eloquence that would have put Bill Clinton to shame. Much to the defence team’s dismay they could see the judge’s opinion beginning to shift and Craig knew that when he retired to his chambers to consider there was only one verdict that Donaghy was going to return. They were going to lose their phone taps.
Just as Lawton was summing up with Thomas Jefferson’s famous line “To preserve the freedom of the human mind then and freedom of the press, every spirit should be ready to devote itself to martyrdom” Donaghy’s clerk appeared through a side door and approached him with a note. The judge read it then nodded at Craig and raised a hand to halt Lawton’s flow.
“Gentlemen, it would seem that the defence team’s case has just been made.”
He beckoned Craig across and handed him the paper while he brought the others up to date.
“A ransom call was received twenty minutes ago.” He turned pointedly to Lawton. “To your direct line at The Chronicle.”
At that, Donaghy banged his gavel on the bench with the words. “Case rejected.” He smiled at Craig, said “good luck” and dismissed the court. Craig he handed the note to John Byrne and slipped out his mobile to call Davy.
“Davy, there’s been a call to the editor-in
-chief’s line at The Chronicle, asking for a six million ransom. Trace it if you can and tell Liam I’m heading there now to interview whoever took the call.”
He turned to Eugene Standish in gratitude.
“Thanks for taking a chance on this.”
Standish grinned, not because he’d been vindicated but because the development made him feel like he was at the centre of the case.
“Your job’s exciting, isn’t it? Let me know how it goes.”
“I will.” He glanced at Byrne. “I need to go.”
Byrne nodded. “I’ll update the C.C.”
Twenty minutes later Craig was in The Belfast Chronicle’s offices on St Anne’s Square, calming a middle-aged secretary who was gripping her mug of tea as if it was a life belt.
Vera Patterson liked a quiet life, or a moderately quiet one at least; that was why she’d left copywriting in the news room for the more sedate world of the P.A. When Ray Mercer had been made news editor she knew that she’d definitely made the right choice; he ruled the newsroom by fear.
She’d worked for Cameron Lawton for almost two years now, mostly arranging his meetings, taking dictation and making tea. It suited her. Occasionally she got the perk of a trip to a conference abroad, but not so often that it annoyed Brian, her husband of nineteen years.
Cameron Lawton was a brilliant man and brilliant men seemed to her to fall into two camps; either thoughtful academics like Lawton, or aggressive bullies like his predecessor, Oliver Bwye. If Bwye had offered her the job of P.A. she’d definitely have said no, but thankfully he’d taken Bernie Ross to work for him and she’d taken over as Lawton’s P.A. Bwye had left in 2012 so she’d been surprised when the man who’d phoned forty minutes earlier had mentioned his name.
Craig sat down beside her, watching as her violently shaking hands gradually stilled. When he was sure that she was ready to answer, he walked her through the previous hour.
“Can you tell me what you were doing when the call came in, Mrs Patterson?”
She stared at him blankly, as if she hadn’t heard. He repeated the question and eventually she screwed up her face in thought.
The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) Page 9
