He ignored Nicky’s widening eyes and turned swiftly on his heel, leaving the floor without another word and hammering the button on the lift until he’d reached the parking garage. He was halfway up Oxford Street before he realised where he was heading; John’s lab. When he arrived his mobile was ringing and the C.C.U.’s number was flashing on the screen. He ignored it and banged open the door to John’s office. The pathologist was at his desk reading a journal and he looked up, surprised. Craig was even more surprised that he was there at a weekend now that he was married, yet somehow he’d known that he would be; Natalie was on-call and John wasn’t one to sit home alone.
“I didn’t expect you. Need some help with the case?”
Craig didn’t answer, just slumped in a chair, struggling with whether to tell his friend about his outburst or fudge the visit as something to do with work. He swallowed hard and did the latter.
“I had to come to Belfast for meetings, so I thought I’d call in and pick your brains.”
John scrutinised Craig’s face and made a silent diagnosis, then he poured some coffee and nodded as if he’d believed every word of what he’d said.
“Good to see you. Mike says he’s hit a dead end. Two dead, gunshots, yet no gunshot residue on either victim’s hands to say that they’d fired the gun.”
Craig was startled. They hadn’t discussed the possibility that one of the Bwyes had pulled the trigger.
“Why did he look for GSR?”
John shrugged with the insouciance of a man who’d ceased to be startled by anything in life. “It’s standard practice in shootings, no matter how unnecessary it might appear.” Suddenly his eyes lit up. “Although I must say this case is an unusual one. I’m quite jealous of Mike.”
Craig pushed past his excitement. “The fact there’s no GSR doesn’t mean that neither of them fired it. Couldn’t they have worn gloves?”
John considered huffing at Craig’s rudeness then remembered the conversation he’d had with Liam and smiled instead, humouring him.
“They could have and maybe whoever dumped the bodies removed them. But even if they hadn’t, the concrete and water would likely have destroyed the residue anyway.” He topped up his coffee. “Anyway, this is all moot. Why would Bwye wound himself and then drown himself in concrete? And he definitely couldn’t have thrown himself out of the boat. Similarly I can’t see Diana Bwye wrapping herself in a plastic sack, weighing herself down with stones and then shooting herself in the chest as she jumped. That’s what she’d have had to do.”
Craig nodded hesitantly. He knew both scenarios were impossible, but…
“But her head was exposed. The sack was sealed at the neck.” He wasn’t sure why he’d said it; he already knew it couldn’t have made a difference. He was wrong.
John’s jaw dropped. “Mike didn’t tell me that! I’m going to kill him. That alters everything. She could have killed her husband then wrapped herself in the plastic bag up to the neck, filled it with stones and sealed it, then shot herself in the chest inside the bag.” He thought for a moment and then shook his head. “No, that doesn’t work either. At least one of her hands would still have to have been outside or the gun would have been found in the bag with her.”
“The sack was frayed enough to let the stones fall out, so maybe the gun-”
John cut him off. “No, none of the holes were that big.” He shook his head at his own stupidity. “And anyway, how could she have thrown herself in the lake if she was dead?”
Craig frowned, thinking. After a moment sipping his coffee he restarted. “Let’s say, and this is just speculation but humour me, let’s say that Oliver Bwye decided to kill himself that night for whatever reason, and he had it all planned with the help of an accomplice. Shoot to wound him in the study, leave some blood on the floor to make it look like an assault, get into the van…”
John could keep silent no longer. “Then drown him in concrete and dump him in the lake! There are easier ways to go. And what would have been the purpose of such an elaborate ruse?”
“To kill himself in a way that meant the family would get his K&R insurance.”
“It’s a bit drastic, to kill yourself just to leave someone else money, and why kill the wife as well?”
Craig shook his head. “Bwye was already dying and she was collateral damage. She was supposed to be out at her charity committee like she was every Wednesday night.”
“Dying of what?”
Craig realised he’d omitted important information. “Sorry. Terminal prostate cancer. He had a few months at most.”
John nodded slowly. “Mike didn’t say. So he was killing himself rather than go through the pain and to get a quick pay out? But why K&R, why not life insurance when he died naturally. He wouldn’t have had to wait long.”
“His life insurance excluded prostate cancer; he’d had a history of prostate disease for years.”
“So if he was abducted and murdered, K&R would have left his family secure. Nice.”
Craig made a face. “Except it turns out they didn’t really need the money because Diana Bwye owned Rocksbury, and Oliver Bwye definitely wasn’t an altruist. The people we’ve spoken to say he wouldn’t have given up one second of life for anyone else. Andy thinks Bwye wanted to leave the money so that people would think he was loaded when he died.”
“Kidnap and kill yourself for the K&R just to impress the world with your wealth when you’re dead! Tell Andy he’s talking rubbish.”
“My thoughts exactly. Especially not if it meant suffocating in concrete.”
John thought for a moment. “OK…so that brings us back to someone who hated Bwye enough to kill him, and the wife as an unfortunate witness. Someone who knew where he kept his rifle…”
“And knew where the gun cabinet’s key was. The lock wasn’t smashed.”
“OK, so either someone who already knew where it was or someone that Bwye had told or given the key to.”
“Deliberately told, as in someone that he’d hired to kill him? Or accidentally told because he had a big mouth? Or was it just someone who knew because they were so close to him, like his favourite escort, Mavis Brown?” Craig shook his head in frustration. “Except that a woman couldn’t possibly have done all this alone; even if the van had had a hoist to get them into the boat it would have taken a strong man to tip bodies over the side of a boat into the lake.”
John opened his mouth to interject then closed it again when he realised that he had nothing sensible to add. Craig had a serious puzzle on his hands and he didn’t have all the pieces yet. They could spend the next ten minutes going round in circles or he could change the subject. He was tempted to say what was really on his mind, but Craig’s furrowed brow said it wasn’t the time for a meaningful discussion, so instead he turned the conversation to DIY.
“I’ve almost finished the kitchen. Everything should be ready for Christmas Eve.”
Craig’s mind was still on the Bwyes so he answered vaguely. “Good…” Then he realised what John had said. “What’s happening on Christmas Eve?”
“Well, apart from Santa coming down the chimney, which will be a challenge with the fire being lit, it’s the house-warming party. Remember?”
Craig gave a weak smile. “I’m sure it will be great.”
It was John’s turn to frown. “You sound like you’re not coming.”
Craig nodded distractedly then stood up to leave, repeating his last words. “It will be great.”
As John watched his friend leave he made up his mind. There was a conversation coming soon that had nothing to do with work and it wasn’t one that either of them would enjoy.
****
Cameron Lawton’s Offices. The Belfast Chronicle.
“You’re certain these are the only possibilities?”
Craig gestured at the three names in front of him. One he recognised as belonging to a local councillor, Brian Ormond, who was knocking on for seventy years old. A man so small and thin that if Oliv
er Bwye had sat on him it would have extinguished his life. The other two names he didn’t know, but ‘Harold’ and ‘Solomon’ didn’t convey images of strong young men.
Cameron Lawton nodded. “I asked around and, between myself and conversations I’ve had, these are the only three left alive who hated Bwye enough to kill him. Your computer boy already has their details.” He tapped the list. “Bwye accused Ormond of embezzlement, which was later proved false but Bwye only gave him a short apology on the back page. With Solomon Ronson he covered his son’s arrest for drug dealing with unnecessary zeal; I’m talking front page colour spread.”
“What about the last one, Harold Clinton?”
Lawton screwed up his face. “Nasty piece of work. He deserved everything he got. He’s a paedophile, still in prison. Bwye used his case to start a fundraising campaign for a child abuse charity, one of the few decent things that he ever did.”
Craig went back to his first impression. “How old are these men? The councillor must be pushing seventy.”
Lawton smiled wistfully. It was the smile of a seventy-year-old looking at a forty something and wishing that he had all those years again.
“You’re right. Ormond is seventy-two, Ronson’s in his sixties and Clinton’s in his late seventies; he’ll never leave prison, thank goodness.”
Craig sighed. All seven men on the list could have families who might want to avenge them, that meant that Davy still had wider searches to do. The newsman scrutinised Craig’s face.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, Superintendent, but you look exhausted. Aren’t you near solving the case yet?”
The mirror in the men’s room had told Craig how tired he looked ten minutes earlier, so Lawton’s words weren’t a shock.
“I don’t mind you saying so but unfortunately no, not yet.” Craig lifted the list. “Thank you for this. If you think of anything else, please get in touch.”
It was clear from Lawton’s expression that he already had.
Craig leaned forward eagerly. “What is it? We need to know, no matter how insignificant it seems.”
Lawton looked sad for a moment then he spoke, in a reluctant tone. “It’s difficult…one doesn’t like to speak ill of the dead, especially when they had such a hard life…”
Craig connected the dots. “It’s something about Diana Bwye?”
Lawton’s expression said yes, it also said that he wasn’t sure. “Perhaps. I’m not certain… Diana was a truly lovely woman.” He glanced at Craig. “You know what I mean by that?”
Craig smiled his first real smile of the day. He knew exactly what Bwye meant. Nice women, pretty women and even good women were seen every day in homes and streets. But lovely women were few and far between and their loveliness had nothing to do with their looks. His grandmother had been one, her every smile an offer of help geared towards making the recipient’s life better in some way. She’d never shouted and never complained, instead carrying the burdens of the world with good grace. Everything she’d done had been tinged with kindness and he’d adored her for it. He’d never met anyone like her before or since. He stopped himself abruptly. Yes he had. Katy. Before he could ask himself what the revelation meant, Lawton continued wistfully.
“I see that you’ve met such a woman. They leave an impact, don’t they? Diana Bwye was one. It was such a misfortune that she married Oliver.”
He gazed out his office window until Craig prompted him gently. “And? You implied there was something you could tell me about her that was pertinent.”
The older man shielded his eyes with his hand for a moment before he looked at Craig again.
“I think Diana was seeing another man.” His tone grew defiant, as if he was daring Craig to judge. “And so what if she was? Her life with Oliver was hell, didn’t she deserve some happiness?”
Infidelity clearly didn’t fit with Lawton’s idea of a lovely woman, except in cases of duress.
“Who is he, Mr Lawton?”
“I…I don’t want to slander anyone when I’m not sure. It was just something I noticed at last year’s Christmas party.”
Craig’s tone was firmer this time.
“His name?”
Lawton hung his head. “The Bwye’s family solicitor, Joshua Kelly. I invited him to the party as he’d helped us with an article. He didn’t normally attend.”
“Tell me what happened to make you suspicious.”
“It might be nothing…”
Craig’s stare hardened.
“Joshua…he, he spilled some wine down his shirt and Diana got a damp cloth to clean it off. But instead of handing him the cloth to do it himself she wiped his shirt until the stain was gone. She, she was being kind. She always was.”
“There was more than that, wasn’t there?”
Lawton nodded sadly, his voice dropping. “He covered her hand with his for a moment; a very long moment and she didn’t pull away.” He shook his head. “They were in the kitchen so no-one else saw but me. I might have imagined it. Perhaps she was just being kind?”
He wasn’t imagining it, Craig was sure of that; but what did it mean? Diana Bwye might just have been snatching a well-deserved moment of tenderness from the brutality of her life, or there could have been more between the pair. Either way it had to be checked out. Craig slipped the list of names into his pocket and rose to leave, then he shook the editor’s hand.
“You’ve been very helpful, Mr Lawton. We’ll check everything.” He smiled reassuringly. “And I won’t think any less of Mrs Bwye no matter what we find.”
Chapter Seve
nteen
Katy was in outpatients at St Mary’s when her mobile rang with a withheld number. She let it cut to answerphone, too busy dictating a letter for her P.A. and wondering what to buy her mum for Christmas, to answer an unknown call. It would be some company asking her to buy something she didn’t need.
Her brother always went for safe and sensible Christmas presents, getting their mum a warm cardigan or a new coat, but she was determined to bring a bit of excitement back into her life. She’d been alone for ten years since her dad had died but she was still only seventy; still lots of time to get back out in the world.
She’d just narrowed the gifts to three possibilities when her phone rang again, this time with a message; it was John requesting a call back to the lab. She rang immediately, visions of Craig lying somewhere, bruised and bleeding, and John being the designated messenger of bad news racing through her head. John was just about to say hello when she cut across him.
“What’s wrong? Is Marc OK? What happened to him?”
He realised immediately how his business-like ‘call me back’ must have sounded and gabbled an apology.
“Marc’s fine. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you.” Before Katy had a chance to answer, he caveated his words. “Well, he’s not really fine but he’s not injured. Well actually, that may not be true, strictly speaking…”
He was taken aback by her next words.
“For God’s sake, John, be quiet! You’re scaring me even more now.” After a pause she carried on. “Just answer these questions. Is Marc hurt?”
“No.” He inhaled to elaborate but she cut across him.
“Is he sick?”
“No.” He knew better than to inhale this time.
“Is this about his recent drinking, moodiness, insomnia and being generally difficult?”
John heaved a sigh of relief. Answering logical questions was so much easier than free-flowing discourse.
“Yes.” He paused to let her continue. When she didn’t he carried on. “He’s making life hard for everyone on the case. He’s snappy, vague and looks like hell, well, as much like hell as Marc ever looks, and I’m worried about him.”
It was Katy’s turn to sigh. “So am I. I have an opinion on what’s happening but I’d like to hear yours first.”
“PTSD. He hasn’t dealt with shooting Caleb Pitt in October. It doesn’t matter that Pitt was a
bout to kill Liam, Marc still feels like crap because he had to shoot an old man in a wheelchair, especially in the head.”
“I know, but he won’t talk to me about it. It’s like he’s ashamed, as if it was dishonourable somehow.”
John nodded then remembered that she couldn’t see him. “That’s exactly what he thinks! For a twenty-first-century man, Marc’s soul belongs in medieval times. He’d have been happier fighting a duel to the death than doing what he had to do that day.”
Katy fell silent. They agreed on what was wrong and what had caused it, now they had to do something positive. She swallowed hard before speaking; she didn’t want to give away Craig’s secrets but she needed John’s help.
“Marc’s been seeing a counsellor. The force insisted on it after the shooting.”
If she’d expected John to be surprised then she’d been wrong.
“I know.”
Of course he did. He’d been in Craig’s life far longer than she had. John was still speaking.
“I also know that he won’t talk to her; all he does is stare out the bloody window for an hour once a week.”
She hadn’t known. Her voice broke. “He didn’t tell me.”
“He loves you too much. He sees it as his job to protect you.”
“Even when he needs my help!”
John shook his head. She still had a way to go before she understood Craig.
“In Marc’s head, needing anyone’s help is weak, especially the help of a woman he loves. He’s an old fashioned bloke, Katy. He sees it as his job to protect you, not the other way round.”
Katy’s resolve broke and she started to sob. “But if he won’t let us help him what are we going to do, John? I can’t bear to see him so unhappy.”
John could feel his sympathy for Craig starting to turn to anger. Guilt and remorse were all very well but not if they hurt the people you loved. His voice softened.
“Please don’t cry.” He attempted a joke. “If Natalie hears I’ve made you cry she’ll beat me up.”
The thought of the five feet tall Natalie making a dent on him was so ridiculous that it made her laugh.
The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) Page 27
