“I was…oh yes, I was filling some envelopes.”
“With what?”
Craig couldn’t care less what she’d been filling the envelopes with, but the small talk was putting her at ease.
Her face lit up. “We’re running a competition for the best fundraising scheme in Northern Ireland and I was sending out the entry forms.”
The Chronicle’s sudden philanthropy had to be Lawton’s idea; it hadn’t been a feature of Oliver Bwye’s reign.
“And how was that going?”
“I was nearly half way through when the telephone rang. It was to Mr Lawton’s line but that automatically redirects to me when he doesn’t answer.”
Good. She’d brought up the phone call herself. Craig let her talk.
“I picked it up and a man spoke. Actually he was whispering, so I had to ask him to speak up.”
Craig interrupted in a casual voice, so as not to scare her off. “Did he sound like he had a sore throat?”
Vera shook her greying head. “No, no, he wasn’t hoarse, just whispering.” She pursed her lips. “I thought it was someone playing silly buggers, we get hoax calls all the time.”
Craig gestured at the phone on her desk. “To this line?”
She furrowed her brow. “Well, no, to the news desk mainly, but I thought perhaps he’d come through to the wrong place. I know most of Mr Lawton’s regular callers.”
The words were said with a pride that Craig recognised from Nicky; the sign of a good P.A. was to know who was calling their boss before they gave their name. He nodded her on.
“He spoke up a little, but not much. And when he said what he said…well, at first I thought it was a joke.”
Craig smiled encouragingly. “What exactly did he say?”
“He said ‘six million for them’. Well, I’d no idea what he was talking about, had I? So I asked him, six million for what? That was when he said ‘the Bwyes’.” She gave him an anguished look. “I didn’t like Mr Bwye, nobody did, but I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
Craig thought for a moment. How had she known that it wasn’t a hoax? They’d kept the information about the Bwyes’ disappearance as secret as they could. And why had she phoned the court instead of Cameron Lawton’s mobile or the police? He asked the questions and she blushed.
“My friend works in legal and she told me all about the case this morning, so I checked Mr Lawton’s diary.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s always putting in meetings and not telling me. How he expects me to keep track and not double-book him, I don’t know.”
It was a cry he’d heard from Nicky many times.
“I tried his mobile but it was off so I phoned the court.”
It made sense. “OK, Mrs Patterson, tell me more about the call.”
She shrugged apologetically. “That’s really all he said. After he said ‘the Bwyes’ he said ‘no police’ and hung up.”
“Nothing else? No instructions for paying the money, or a deadline?”
She looked puzzled. “Now you mention it, that was strange, wasn’t it? I suppose that means he’ll phone back.”
They hoped.
“Was there anything about his voice? Did he have an accent, or could you perhaps tell me his age?”
“Yes.”
Craig was surprised by her confident tone and by the fact that she hadn’t mentioned it before.
“Which? Age or accent?”
“Both. He was young, twenties I’d say, and he had a west Belfast accent.”
It was very specific and he said as much.
“Age is easy; if you answer calls all day like I do you can tell age from a voice. His was young, he might even have been in his teens but definitely not as old as thirty.”
“And his accent?” It was the first Craig had heard of a difference between an east and west Belfast voice.
Vera Patterson nodded firmly. “You can tell. First of all a Belfast accent is easy to spot, wouldn’t you agree?”
Craig couldn’t argue with her on that and it dawned on him that if he could tell a south Belfast accent, which he could, why shouldn’t someone else be able to tell east from west.
“Agreed, but what’s the difference between east and west?”
“East Belfast is sharp and flat, west Belfast is sharp but much faster. Plus it goes up and down more, and some of the words are said like Irish words.”
“Like?”
She’d lost him and she knew it. “Just trust me, Superintendent. I’m from west Belfast and I know a west Belfast man.”
West Belfast, not west of the Bann; it was a new twist for the Derry based case. Craig shook her hand and left, apologising that she’d have to recount her story again in a statement. He was exiting The Chronicle’s offices onto St Anne’s Square just as Cameron Lawton entered. Lawton stopped and smiled at him.
“Good for you, Superintendent.”
Craig wasn’t sure which ‘good for you’ he was referring to; winning the case or being right in the first place. Lawton read his mind.
“You were right to tap us. I thought so all along, but the lawyers wanted me to fight it; in case it established a precedent and you decided to tap us every other week.” He chuckled. “As if you’ve nothing better to do.”
Craig gave a tight smile. “We’ll need to keep the traces on.”
Lawton nodded. “I understand.” His expression changed to a more solemn one. “I hope you catch the bastards. Oliver Bwye isn’t a nice man and he’s made a lot of enemies, but still...”
“Any particular enemies spring to mind?”
“How long have you got?” Lawton’s quiet voice became angry. “Bwye ruined lives, Superintendent, unnecessarily so in many cases. Newspapers might have to report the truth but we can do it responsibly and he didn’t. He reported unfounded allegations, many of which turned out to be false, but by then all anyone remembered were the headlines. A three-line apology buried on page ten could never reverse the harm.”
Lawton and Bwye sounded like journalistic chalk and cheese. Craig had an idea.
“Would you be prepared to make a list of Bwye’s possible enemies for us?”
Lawton nodded. “If you think it would be of help.”
“Definitely.”
“Then I’ll send it through. Now, I’d better make sure that Vera’s OK.”
He turned to go and then turned back, extending his hand. Craig shook it. He didn’t like journalists, they’d twisted his words in ways that had harmed cases too many times, but his gut said that Cameron Lawton was that rare media bird who only ever told the truth.
Chapt
er Eight
The Lab. 12.30 p.m.
“To what do I owe this honour?”
As he spoke, John Winter set down the book that he was reading and moved to switch on the percolator, a sequence he’d performed a thousand times before when Craig had arrived at his lab. He was surprised when Craig shook his head.
“Not for me, John, I can’t stay. I’m just here to give you a heads up that we may need your services soon.”
John’s eyes widened. “You’ve found the Bwyes?”
“No, but we’ve had a ransom call and we both know that kidnaps rarely end well.”
The pathologist nodded glumly and flicked on the percolator anyway. Craig glanced at the clock and changed his mind about staying, taking a seat. He had ten minutes before he needed to head to Docklands; he could spend them having coffee with his friend. As they drank, he filled John in on everything, ending with the details of the ransom call.
John whistled. “Six million! They’re ambitious.”
Craig made a face. “Or they already know they’ll never get it because the Bwyes are dead.”
“Did they offer proof of life?”
Craig halted mid-sip, shocked that the idea hadn’t occurred to him; he’d asked Vera Patterson about a deadline but not proof that the Bwyes were still alive. Pessimism or premonition? The caller hadn’t offered anything in exchange for the m
oney, which meant that either he thought the Bwyes’ lawyers were stupid enough to cough up cash on request or…the kidnapper was as stupid as he was and offering proof of life hadn’t occurred to him. Then there was the third option; that his pessimism was warranted and the Bwyes were already dead.
“No…they didn’t.” Craig outlined his thoughts and watched as John shook his head. “You disagree that they’re dead?”
John wavered. “Possibly… Well yes, actually, I do. Once they’re dead it’s only a matter of time before the bodies are found, unless they’ve hidden them somewhere very secluded. And if you’d just killed three people would you take the risk of calling a major newspaper, with all its resources, never mind that it would get the police involved, if they weren’t already? It would take balls of steel and there aren’t too many men with those in Northern Ireland. Even the psychopaths here cry for their mammies.”
Craig smiled at the imagery. “So…what?”
“I think they’re still alive, or at least some of them are. Even the thickest thug knows you need a bargaining chip.”
Craig pondered for a moment and then drained his cup. “There’s one way to find out. Next time they ring we ask for proof of life.”
He sprang to his feet more energised than when he’d arrived. John wondered if coffee had an extra effect on him because of his Italian genes; Latin rocket fuel.
“Thanks, John, that helped, but I meant what I said about keeping yourself available.”
“Mike’s already in Derry.”
“I still think we’ll have more than one body to P.M.”
****
Craig’s trip to the C.C.U. lasted just long enough to sign the letters that Nicky pushed in front of him, each obligingly marked with a pencil ‘X’ where she needed his name, and to talk Jake and Carmen through the boxes of paperwork that Joanne Greer’s solicitors had sent through. As Jake said, there was very little appealing about her appeal.
Craig’s head said that Greer had no hope of getting her sentence overturned, but he still had a gnawing doubt. Greer had been Machiavellian enough to organise three contract killings without having any funds transferred in her name. They’d only convicted her with circumstantial evidence and the assistance of a now dead man. They’d been fortunate with their judge and jury first time, but even he had to admit that a different court might not convict her again.
He left the squad-room deep in thought and began the journey back to the northwest. It was only when he was thirty miles up the road that he suddenly remembered he hadn’t called Katy to say that he would be in town. Damn; they could have had lunch at least; she must be feeling nervous about him working with Julia. He turned down the CD he’d been playing and tapped his car-phone. She answered quickly, in a cheerful tone.
“Hello, pet. How are you?”
Craig smiled at her voice. It was as pretty as she was and its sound always cheered him up.
“Fine. Where are you?”
Katy gazed around her, wondering how to explain that she’d played hooky to go to a beauty salon. She couldn’t because that would mean saying why she was there and that would give away her surprise, so she lied, choosing an option that would explain the music playing in the background.
“I nipped home to collect a file and stayed for a late lunch.”
She forgot that she was dealing with a man trained to spot lies. Craig heard her fib immediately and frowned, wondering what it was about. He shrugged it off just as quickly. Whatever she was lying about he would find out eventually, and there was no part of him that believed it was something bad. Katy was still talking.
“How’s the case?”
“Dire. We’re no closer to finding them and we’ve just had a ransom demand.”
Her gasp reminded Craig that kidnap and ransom didn’t feature in normal people’s days so he softened the words with “hopefully we’ll get them back.” He gave her a few seconds to recover before changing the subject. “John’s planning a surprise for Natalie.” He added hastily, “But you can’t tell her.”
She laughed. “You’re hopeless at keeping secrets. What is it?”
Craig pretended to be offended. “I can’t tell you, it’s a secret.”
“Are you sulking?”
Silence.
“Marc?”
He played silent long enough to worry her, knowing exactly what her next words would be.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Craig laughed and she spluttered.
“You pig, you were winding me up.”
“It’s so easy, I couldn’t resist it. The secret is that John’s been working like a navvy on the house and I’ve been helping him. You should see it, it looks great. He’s going to show Natalie when we all get back from Derry; we just need to add some finishing touches for the party.”
“Party! A Christmas party?”
He knew she was already visualising her outfit, almost certainly something festive and red. They chatted for a moment longer then she glanced at the clock, knowing that the hairdresser would return soon to dry her hair. It would be hard to explain the sound of a turbo-charged hairdryer when she was only supposed to be collecting a file.
“I’d better go, Marc. I’ve a clinic at two.”
Another lie. Craig smiled knowingly; she was up to something and it obviously involved him or she would have told him straight out. Whatever it was would be fun, he knew that much. He glanced at the roundabout ahead and followed the signs for the Glenshane road.
“OK, pet. I’m almost there.” He paused, wondering whether to say what was on his mind. “Katy…I…”
She didn’t make him say it. “I miss you too, Marc, and I love you.” Then, with a mysterious laugh, she hung up the phone.
****
The Rocksbury Estate. 4 p.m.
“OK, everyone grab a coffee, please. We’re ready to start.”
Craig took a seat behind Oliver Bwye’s desk and glanced idly at the book shelves, wondering which of the books contained booze. He could do with a drink after the day he’d had. He made do with coffee while the others brought in chairs from the main room. Andy and Liam turned them round, to sit with their arms hanging over the backs, Annette crossed her knees primly and Davy lounged elegantly on a small chaise longue, looking as if he was in a nightclub.
“Anyone know where Julia and Gerry are?”
Annette answered. “At the station, interviewing the cook and head gardener.”
Craig nodded. “Good. Who’s taking the grounds men?”
Andy jerked his head at Liam. “We’re doing the honours tomorrow morning, hey.”
“OK. Right, I’ll update you on the developments this morning first then we’ll go round each of you one by one.”
Liam knew from Craig’s face that it wasn’t good news. “Rough day in court?”
“And looking like it’ll be an even rougher week.” Craig sighed heavily. “OK, first The Chronicle’s appeal. It was thrown out.”
Andy gave a small “Yeh!” but Craig shook his head.
“We were lucky; it was definitely going to be granted. The paper’s editor-in-chief, Cameron Lawton, was wiping the floor with us.”
Liam gave a puzzled frown. “Why wasn’t it then?”
“Because the judge got a call from The Chronicle’s offices in the nick of time. A blackmail demand came through on Lawton’s personal line.”
Liam leaned over his chair eagerly. “What did they ask for?”
“I’ll come onto that in a minute. Anyway, when the call came through it vindicated the phone taps and the judge ruled for us.” He turned to Davy. “Did you record the call?”
Davy nodded and gestured at his smart-pad. “Do you w…want me to play it?”
“In a moment.”
Liam cut in again, keen to move Craig along. “So you headed to The Chronicle’s offices, and then what?”
“You were at the back of the queue when patience was handed out, weren’t you.”
“At th
e front for charisma, though.”
Craig had to laugh; more at the fact Liam believed it than at his joke.
“OK, I went to The Chronicle and spoke to Lawton’s P.A., Vera Patterson. She took the call at ten-fifty-five. It was on divert from Lawton’s direct line. Before we listen to it she had a few things to say about Oliver Bwye. So did Lawton. Bwye was more than unpopular, he was hated. Mrs Patterson said she could never have worked for him. She was a copywriter at the paper when Bwye was there and only became a P.A. when Lawton took over. He’s a different kettle of fish entirely, bit of a philanthropist; they organise charity campaigns nowadays.”
Liam interrupted. “In between the crap they still print. Lawton can’t be that different if he gave Ray Mercer control of the news desk.”
Craig shrugged. “I’m not sure that was his decision; the Board and shareholders have a big say and the crap Mercer writes sells a lot of papers. You know I’m not a fan of journalists but Lawton seems decent. He said Bwye made a lot of enemies because of the vicious way he reported, but also because he reported things that were just allegations and then, when they were proved wrong, he only issued a brief retraction buried somewhere near the back page. He ruined people’s lives.”
Andy raised a finger to interrupt. “Any chance Lawton can give us a list of names, hey?”
Craig nodded. “He’s pulling it together now.”
Liam shook his head. “If someone printed something false about me I’d shove their bloody paper down their throat.”
Craig shuddered, not at Liam’s threat but at the power of the press. People were so impressionable that once something was in print they believed it was true and it was almost impossible to convince them otherwise. Mud definitely stuck. He continued in a brisk tone.
“OK, the ransom call came through just before eleven and Vera Patterson answered it because Lawton’s phone was on divert. She knew Lawton was in court and she knew what he was there for, not because he’d told her but because someone in The Chronicle’s legal department had. Quite a few staff at the paper knew that the Bwyes were missing even before the call came in.”
The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) Page 10
