He headed for the door and then realised that Liam wasn’t with him. “Get a move on, Liam. We need to find who this blogger is before they shut down the site.”
****
Two hours later they admitted defeat. Davy had narrowed the address to Shipquay Street and they’d been the full length of it six times, no mean feat when it was one of the longest streets in the country and they were both half asleep.
Every time they’d thought they’d had the right address and hammered on the door, they’d found some innocent housewife surfing recipes, or some teenage boy googling websites his parents would have been very unhappy about. Father Fred was obviously piggy-backing other peoples’ Wi-Fi.
Craig phoned base. “Davy, if he keeps shifting routers how sure can we be that this guy is based in Derry at all?”
“Everything on the s…site is about Derry; restaurants, clubs, bars. He must be fairly young because the places he’s talking about are for students and the under thirties. W…When are you coming back?”
“Have you found something else?”
“Yes, and the head of the lake search wants to talk to you as w…well.”
He paused, thinking of the lead diver’s face when he’d entered the study ten minutes before. His expression had said that they’d found something and that it definitely wasn’t good.
Craig read the silence and knew they would be returning to at least one body. Liam saw his shoulders droop and heard the flatness in his voice.
“We’ll be there in thirty minutes. Meanwhile, get the IT people to help you trace the blog. We need an accurate address.” His next words were tinged with amusement. “If they give you grief about surfing the Net tell them you were checking the local blogs on my say-so.”
He cut the call on Davy’s sigh of relief and they returned to the car in silence. He threw Liam the keys and sat back to think. They had a blogger who knew something about their case, no, more than that, they knew about the ransom demand and the exact amount. Who else knew that but them, Cameron Lawton and Vera Patterson? He trusted his team not to leak, so that just left The Chronicle’s staff. He dialled the number and Vera Patterson answered.
“Good morning. Mr Lawton’s office.”
“Mrs Patterson, it’s Superintendent Craig. Is Mr Lawton there?”
Vera dropped the magazine she’d been flicking through and straightened up as if Craig could see her. Clergy, head teachers and police officers, they scared her stiff, had done since she was a child.
“No, Superintendent…I’m sorry. He’s at a conference today.”
“Ask him to call me please, it’s urgent.”
Vera grew even more nervous. The tone in Craig’s voice wasn’t just policeman stern; it was very annoyed policeman stern. She screwed up her courage to ask why.
“Is there something wrong?”
“Yes, Mrs Patterson, there is. Who else besides you and Mr Lawton knew about the ransom call?”
She froze. His implication was clear; there’d been a leak.
“I didn’t say anything…I wouldn’t…I’m a confidential secretary.”
Craig let her babble until he was sure she was telling the truth.
“Well, unfortunately, someone did and only you and Mr Lawton knew the details of the call.”
Vera’s heart leapt in relief. “We weren’t the only ones.” It was out before she had time to consider that she was landing someone else in the shit.
Craig’s tone became icy and Liam knew that someone was going to get it in the neck. “Who else knew?”
“It wasn’t…they’re very young…they didn’t know not to…”
Craig was tired and fed up and he had no time to mess about; his voice reflected it all.
“Who else, Mrs Patterson? You’re wasting police time.”
She gave a small gulp before gabbling out a reply. “Rory Cahill. He’s our runner. He overheard me being interviewed by your W.P.C. and…and he told Ray Mercer, the news editor.”
The way she said Mercer’s name confirmed she hated him almost as much as them, but if Mercer knew about the ransom call then why wasn’t it on the front page? The detective answered his own question; because it was more than Mercer’s career was worth to print the contents of a police interview and he knew it, but that wouldn’t stop the bastard leaking it to a blogger and then sitting back to watch as word spread. Once it was in the public forum he could print his headline with impunity.
Craig banged his fist hard against the dashboard and Liam grinned, knowing what it meant; someone was going to get a roasting and for once it wasn’t him. Craig thought for a moment and then enlisted Vera Patterson’s help.
“Mrs Patterson, I’d like you to arrange a meeting for us this afternoon with Mr Lawton and Mr Cahill. D.C.I. Cullen and I will be there around two o’clock.”
Before she could say “I’ll need to check Mr Lawton’s diary” or “I’ve booked this afternoon off” he’d cut the call, leaving her in no doubt that the meeting wasn’t a request. If Lawton and Cahill weren’t there at two p.m. then the next time they met would be in a police station with very hard chairs.
****
As soon as Justin O’Hare appeared Annette smiled. He crossed the foyer of the modern office building with the energy of youth and the swagger of the arrogant. But that wasn’t why she was smiling. Her lips tilted because O’Hare was the very picture of an alpha male; oozing secondary sexual characteristics like a cheap cologne. His shoulders were broader than Superman’s and his jaw was as wide as it could be without him being an anatomical anomaly. She knew that when he spoke it would be in a deep voice, giving him the butch triumvirate. His age fitted their ransom caller’s as well so she mentally added him to their shortlist alongside Brendan Gordon. Andy was keen to hear O’Hare’s voice so he extended his hand, speaking first.
“Thanks for agreeing to see us, Mr O’Hare.”
The young man looked surprised, as if he’d thought he’d had no choice. He shook Andy’s hand tentatively and said “my pleasure” in the well-mannered way that he’d been raised to do. It wasn’t a big enough sample to tell if his voice was deep or not, but his next words clinched the deal.
“I’m not sure what this is about. Your office just said something to do with Jane Bwye.”
Bingo! He was a baritone. But it was a small victory; his accent was pure Derry, no matter how much expensive elocution teachers had tried to iron it out. Even a seasoned mimic would have had trouble disguising that lilt. Something else had caught Annette’s attention; he’d referred to Jane Bwye, not Jane. It wasn’t the way someone referred to a girlfriend, even a recent ex.
O’Hare led the way to a small office and they each took a seat. After the ritual of tea and introductions Andy waved Annette on. She produced a Dictaphone from her bag and with O’Hare’s puzzled agreement switched it on. Another bad sign; anyone who’d made a ransom call wouldn’t want their voice on tape. Andy’s glance said he already thought O’Hare was a dead-end and Annette tended to agree, but they still had to go through the motions. She dispensed with any preamble.
“Mr O’Hare, you know Jane Bwye. Could you tell us in what context?”
O’Hare stared at the recorder and then back at her, before asking casually. “Is that really necessary?”
She smiled; it could just be curiosity no matter how defensive he seemed. “It will save us returning.”
O’Hare smiled as if he never wanted to see them again then composed his absurdly handsome face into a blank mask. “OK. Jane and I dated for a while.”
“When?”
“End of last year until this March. It was pretty much over in January but I didn’t like to end it before Valentine’s.” He winked at Andy in an ‘all boys together; you understand’ way. “Girl’s don’t like to spend Valentine’s alone.”
Annette wanted to roll her eyes but he would have seen, so instead she gritted her teeth and continued. “Have you seen her since then?”
The puzzled look returned.
“Around town, yes. But not as a girlfriend.”
He leaned forward and she tensed. She needn’t have worried; all he did was clasp his hands together on the desk.
“Look, if you don’t mind me asking, what is all this about? Has something happened to Jane?”
Andy leapt in. “Why would you say that?”
O’Hare stared at him as if he was thick. “Because two cops are asking questions about her!”
Oh. Andy nodded Annette on, not answering O’Hare’s query.
“When did you last see Jane Bwye in any context?”
The young executive lounged back again and stared past her through the window. His expression said that he was trying to recall.
“Last week actually.”
Annette fought to keep the eagerness from her voice. “Which day?”
He glanced up at the ceiling, as if the answer was written there. “Tuesday. No, wait, it was Wednesday. Just before twelve o’clock.”
“It was definitely her? You saw her face?”
“Definitely.”
“Twelve o’clock midday?”
He shook his head. “At night. Midnight. She was in that sports car of hers; she loves that bloody thing more than she loves her dog.”
Annette’s eagerness was becoming hard to hide. If Jane had still been alive at midnight on that Wednesday, it could help them time the assaults.
“Where did you see her?”
“Shipquay Street. She was almost doing the ton. I was leaving the pub with some mates, just about to cross the road, when she came belting down the hill.”
“We’ll need your friends’ names.”
O’Hare shrugged and then narrowed his eyes. “Why? Has something happened to Jane? You’d better tell me or I’m not answering any more questions, and I’m definitely not giving you my mates’ names.”
He folded his gym-bulked arms defiantly. Andy considered for a moment and then spoke.
“We have concerns about Jane’s safety and anything you can tell us would be helpful.”
O’Hare’s eyes widened and his arms unravelled instantly. He leaned forward again. “Sure. We weren’t right for each other but she’s a nice girl. I wouldn’t like anything to happen to her.” After a brief pause he continued. “I’ll write my mates’ names down, but they’ll tell you the same. Jane belted past us like a bat out of hell. Her passenger must’ve been terrified.”
Annette almost squeaked her next words. “Passenger? She had someone with her?”
O’Hare looked even more bewildered but he decided he didn’t want to know what the questions were about. “There was a man in the passenger seat. I didn’t see his face.”
“How did you know he was a man then?”
He rolled his eyes rudely.
“Because I could see his hands and legs. It was definitely a man. He was wearing jeans, so probably young. Mind you, with Jeremy Clarkson…” A sharp glance from Annette hurried him on. “I couldn’t swear to their colour.” He grinned sheepishly. “We were all a bit drunk.”
Andy changed tack. “Which direction was the car heading?”
O’Hare thought for a moment, trying to orientate himself outside the pub. “Towards the Guildhall.”
As far away from Rocksbury as was possible. Andy checked, just to be sure.
“Was she going home?”
O’Hare’s “no” was emphatic. “Nowhere close. That’s partly why I remember, well that and the fact that she nearly knocked me down.”
Annette cut in. “When had you last seen her before that?”
“Months before. In June, at a friend’s wedding.”
“We’ll need the friend’s name.”
“Sure.”
“Did she bring a date?”
O’Hare shook his head and Annette noticed the tip of a tattoo on his neck. It was well hidden but she didn’t imagine that mummy and daddy were best pleased.
“Not that I saw, but I was with someone so I didn’t pay much attention. The bride and groom might know.”
He glanced at the wall clock and Annette knew that it was time to leave. Justin O’Hare wasn’t their perp; she’d been convinced of that the moment he’d let them get his voice on tape. But the interview had been more useful that they could have hoped for. Andy rose to leave, extending his hand again.
“Thank you, Mr O’Hare. That’s been very helpful.”
O’Hare gripped his hand and then said, in an anxious voice. “You will let me know if Jane’s OK, won’t you? She’s had a hard time, what with her father…”
His voice tailed off and Annette knew that he was well aware of Oliver Bwye’s violent streak.
She smiled and nodded. “Thank you for your help, Mr O’Hare. If we need to ask you anything more, where can we reach you?”
He produced a business card with a flourish that said he did it several times a day. As Annette took it she played a hunch and asked one last question.
“Mr O’Hare, I hope you won’t think this impertinent, but could I ask you something related to your family?”
His eyebrows rose in surprise but he nodded her on.
“Did your father have some financial troubles, bad investments perhaps, and lose a lot of his money?”
She didn’t know what sort of response she’d expected but it definitely wasn’t a loud guffaw. O’Hare laughed and beckoned them to the window, waving at the streets outside.
“My father owns the building we’re standing in and the four blocks around it. He’s worth millions.”
Annette smiled at the young executive and mentally struck him off their list. He’d just given them more useful information. That the Bwyes’ cook had lied.
****
Craig nodded at the dry-suited sergeant to lift back the cloth, fighting the urge to vomit when he saw Diana Bwye’s bloated face. He knew from photographs that she’d been a pretty woman, with soft, dark curls and eyes to match; but there was none of that prettiness now. Now there was only swollen blue-white flesh, so swollen that it was hard to say where her nose ended and her lips began. Her skin was frayed, as if fish had been nibbling on it for days, and the water and weed fronds had coloured her dark curls olive green. He turned away from the gurney, waving for her to be re-covered and disguising his pity with logical questions and a brisk tone.
“Who found her?”
The sergeant thought for a moment then beckoned a young man across. He was still dressed in diving gear. The search that had started the night before wouldn’t be finished for quite a while.
“McCullough, tell the Superintendent where you found the lady.”
Joel McCullough was tall and thin, like a stick of liquorice, an analogy aided by his black dry-suit. Beneath his rubber hood his face was solemn; as anyone’s would be when they’d just found a woman dead, although Craig suspected that it was the diver’s default expression even when he felt happy about life.
He nodded at Craig. “Hello, sir.” Then he turned and pointed towards the east side of the lake. “She was in the mid-depths near the shore.” He indicated a wet mass of plastic at their feet. “They’d weighed her down with rocks inside this sack.”
“Are the rocks still in there?”
“We didn’t touch anything; forensics might still get something. Although judging by her skin I’d say she’s been down there at least a week.”
It fitted with disposal immediately after she’d disappeared. Craig thought for a moment before speaking again. “You gentlemen will have seen a few bodies like this in your time. Are loose rocks an efficient way of keeping them down?”
McCullough was the first to shake his head. “Useless. Too small and plastic’s far too thin. The currents wear it down then the rocks fall out and up they float.” He nodded at the sack. “This wouldn’t have held her more than another week, even if we hadn’t come looking. There’s something else strange, sir. Her head was exposed. The sack was tied at her neck.”
Craig stared past him into the water, picturing Diana Bwye’s last
moments. He shuddered, and then shuddered again at the image of her killer staring into her eyes as he disposed of her. Had making her look at him given him a sadistic thrill?
He asked another question. “So, what would keep someone down?”
The sergeant answered immediately. “A concrete overcoat. Encase the body completely and its weight will keep it down forever, unless it’s found by accident.”
McCullough nodded in agreement and Craig gazed across the lake. Oliver Bwye was in there somewhere, he was sure of that, the only question was had his daughter suffered the same fate.
****
11.30 a.m.
“Right. There have been some developments.” Craig scanned the room, frowning. “Julia and Gerry missing again?”
Annette turned from adding milk to her tea. “They were interviewing Diana Bwye’s charity friends and then heading to the golf-club. Maybe they didn’t get the message that we were briefing early.”
More likely Julia had decided to march to her own drum, like she usually did. Craig could picture her, determined to solve the case and impress him, even now that she was happy with someone else.
“OK. Bring them up to speed after the briefing, please.”
When everyone was seated he began.
“A body has been found in the lake. It’s Diana Bwye.”
He paused for a moment to let the inevitable gasps and “No”s run through the group, then he carried on.
“She was wrapped in black plastic with rocks inside. The sack was tied at her neck, leaving her face exposed.”
Liam tutted. “Useless way of keeping her down.”
Annette smacked his arm. “Liam!”
“I’m only saying.”
“Too much as usual.”
Craig raised a hand to still the exchange. “Liam’s right, however inelegantly he put it. The lead diver says it’s an ineffective way of hiding a body. Covering her with concrete would have been more efficient. Which means that either our killer is an amateur or…? Anyone?”
Annette answered first. “They got sentimental because it was a woman? Could that go with leaving her face uncovered?”
The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) Page 16
