“John Ellis organised them for me. Far better to see it in person than watch the sanitised version on TV.”
Liam gawped at the impossible-to-get tickets and softened towards his boss, but it hadn’t escaped him that Craig still hadn’t named his five suspects. He could only think of the three names on Lawton’s list.
He shrugged. No doubt Craig would tell him later, after they’d found out who’d won the game.
Chapter Ei
ghteen
Sunday. 11 a.m.
“OK, quick round up. Mike’s just called, he needs me at the lab and I’ve Joshua Kelly to see before then. Carmen, you saw McCann this morning. Where are you with his alibi?”
Carmen glanced at Craig over a pair of black-framed spectacles that he didn’t remember her wearing the day before. Liam asked first, not well disposed towards her since their hostile few months when she’d first joined the squad, and never one to let a grudge go to waste if it still had mileage. He gestured at the glasses.
“Trying to look intelligent, are we?”
Her retort was swift. “We? I’d give up if I were you…sir.”
The quip scored a hit and Liam went to lash back. Craig motioned her to continue reporting, but he was irritated by her cheek to a senior officer, even if Liam had started it. He was too busy to deal with it today but her time would come.
“McCann, Carmen?”
She tried not to look smug and continued.
“I checked his alibi with two people; the head gardener and one of the grounds men. The gardener confirms seeing McCann outside his mother’s apartment that evening. Apparently he was putting out the rubbish. He came out again around ten p.m. to carry something in from Jane’s car. Shopping they thought. It was a grounds man who saw him that time.” She turned over the page and read from the back. “I also checked Brendan Gordon’s alibi. It checks out.”
Craig nodded; it was as he’d thought. “Release McCann.”
He turned to Annette, only to find her whispering to Julia and Gerry in a way that told him they’d been amused by Carmen’s wisecrack.
“Annette. Where are you on the reactions to Diana Bwye owning the house?”
She took out her notebook hastily, chastened by his ‘don’t mess with me’ tone of voice.
“Julia, Gerry and I split the re-interviews and the only person who didn’t look shocked by the information was Bernadette Ross, although she seemed surprised by the question.”
“She didn’t think it was a secret?”
“Exactly. I suppose that’s because she was privy to all the family’s documents, so she would have seen the deeds. Everyone else thought Oliver Bwye owned everything and that was the reason he held so much power over the women in his family. In fact…” She flicked furiously through the pages, stopping first at one and then another. “In fact, Linda McCann and the head gardener both asked why Diana hadn’t had him evicted, given his treatment of her and Jane.”
Craig shook his head. “Marriage is a strange thing.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “How did Jane take the news?”
Annette’s expression changed to one of sadness. “She cried. She couldn’t understand why, if her mum had owned the estate, she hadn’t thrown her father out, if only to protect her. I think she felt betrayed.”
Craig knew everyone was wondering how Diana Bwye could have put her husband before her child’s safety and her own. Davy ventured an opinion.
“Perhaps s…she was scared of what he would do…if she asked him to leave, I mean. He was a big man.”
Craig thought back to Margie Rudd, a woman on an earlier case who’d stayed with her abusive husband for years out of fear. But she’d been poor and uneducated and Diana Bwye hadn’t been either. Julia spoke for the first time since she’d arrived.
“Perhaps she loved him.” She glanced at her engagement ring. “Some women will put up with a lot for love.”
Annette was quick to retort. She’d experienced domestic violence once and had filed for divorce right away. “And some women are stupid. It looks like Diana Bwye was one of them. She had money, her own home and a daughter to protect; there’s no excuse for her staying with that animal.”
“She was religious. Maybe she really believed her wedding vows.”
Craig sensed a feminist battle looming and changed the subject, even though he found it interesting that Julia, a militant feminist when they’d dated, was now on the less militant side.
“OK, so the only person who’s confessed to knowing that Mrs Bwye owned Rocksbury is Bernadette Ross. How sure are you all that they weren’t faking their surprise?”
Gerry and Julia answered in unison. “Very.” Annette’s nod backed them up.
Davy cut in. “The W…Wills were straightforward, like I said before. When Oliver Bwye died everything passed to his wife and when she died, everything went to Jane.”
Liam chipped in. “Unless the wife had died before him, then he’d have owned the house while he still lived.”
Davy shook his head. “Nope. The house would have reverted to the trust and then onto the next female relative in line, in this case Jane. Bwye couldn’t have got his hands on it no matter how hard he’d tried, although Jane would’ve had a job to evict him.”
Craig thought for a moment. “OK. So the only people who stood to benefit financially from killing Diana Bwye were Oliver Bwye, who would have got her life insurance, but as he was going to die in a few months it would have been of little use. And Jane and Richard McCann and we’ve ruled them both out. So…”
The whole group stared at him, wondering what pearls of wisdom he was about to cast forth. There’d been no robbery and the only people who’d stood to benefit from the Bwyes’ deaths had either been killed or proved innocent. That left a killer who’d wanted the Bwyes, or more likely Oliver Bwye, dead for some other motive.
Davy couldn’t contain his curiosity. “So w…what, chief? What possible motive is left for their deaths?”
Craig deferred revealing his thoughts for a while longer.
“You have a list of three people. Councillor Brian Ormond, Harold Clinton and Solomon Ronson. They’re the only three men alive that Cameron Lawton feels hated Bwye enough to kill him.” He sipped his cooling coffee and shot Davy a begging look. As he topped it up Craig carried on. “Bwye accused Ormond of embezzlement, which was later proved false but Bwye only printed a brief retraction on the back page. Bwye covered Solomon Ronson’s son’s arrest for drug dealing with a front page colour spread.”
Gerry whistled. “That was a bit unnecessary.”
Liam nodded energetically. “It certainly was. The family are very respectable. Orthodox Jews. It ruined their reputation and the father’s business. He was a pharmacist.”
Craig nodded. Everyone would have assumed the pharmacist was supplying drugs to his dealer son. He continued.
“Harold Clinton was the only one of the three that Lawton thought deserved everything he got from Bwye. He’s a convicted paedophile. Still inside, Liam?”
“Doing fifteen in Maghaberry.”
“That rules him out in the killings unless he took out a contract, which any of families of the men on Lawton’s longlist could have done. As an aside, apparently Bwye used Clinton’s case to start a fundraising campaign for a child abuse charity. One of the few decent things he ever did, according to Lawton.”
Annette snorted derisively. “A children’s fundraiser who beats the hell out of his own kid.”
Craig nodded. “Bwye was a bastard. It’s hard not to be glad that he’s dead.”
The shock that filled the room was palpable. Not at the words, God knows every one of them had hated Oliver Bwye from early in the case, but at the fact that Craig had said them. No matter what he felt he was always professional. It was an uncharacteristic lapse.
Craig carried on as if he’d said nothing.
“OK, Clinton’s locked up and the others are elderly. Ormond is seventy-two and Ronson’s in his sixties. It doesn’t
rule them out but it makes killing Bwye more of a risk.”
Julia shook her head. “Not if you have a gun.”
Liam spoke before Craig could. “It’s not their age that rules them out, it’s other things. Davy’s been checking them out so I’ll let him tell you.”
Davy tapped the smart-pad on his knee and the screen’s glow highlighted the tiredness on his young face. Annette dreaded to think what the rest of them looked like.
“OK, Brian Ormond, s…seventy-two, currently in St Mary’s Hospital having post-surgery radiotherapy for squamous cell s… skin cancer. He’s been in since early November. S…Solomon Ronson and his family have been visiting relatives in Israel since June. I’ve checked passports and airports and they haven’t been back here during that time.”
Craig shook his head. “It doesn’t rule out extended families or a contract.” He turned to Liam. “You and Gerry get your ears to the ground and see what the Derry snouts can find. If it was a professional contract there can’t be that many round here who could have done it efficiently. John Ellis can help you with local knowledge. Annette, you and Julia check into the men’s extended families. They-”
Just then the back door burst open and Andy stormed in. Craig hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t there. He stood by the doorway triumphantly.
“They’ve found it! The divers have found the Ruger.”
Liam dampened his excitement. “Well, unless you fancy diving in after them, shut that bloody door. You’re letting the heat out.”
Andy kicked the door shut with his heel and grabbed a seat, continuing in an enthusiastic tone.
“It was near where they found Mrs Bwye, weighed down in the same way.”
Craig interrupted. “In a plastic bag, weighted with stones?”
“Yes; identical. They’re hoping the plastic might have protected any prints.”
Liam and Craig shook their heads in unison and Liam spoke first.
“No way. There were no prints on the boat except the McDermotts’. Whoever dumped it and the rifle wore gloves.”
Craig gave Andy an apologetic look. “He’s probably right, but it’s a good find anyway.” He scanned the group. “Anything more on the van; anyone?”
Davy nodded. “A motorway patrol found a burnt out carcass that might be a match.”
Craig sat forward enthusiastically. “Cameras? If it was dumped on a motorway there must be footage.”
Liam warmed to the theme. “And he must have had a car parked nearby as getaway. Try the local A roads and do a ten-mile sweep for CCTV. We might catch a break.”
Annette sounded a note of caution. “He only said it might be a match, sir.”
“It’ll match, Annette. There are only two adapted vans of that type in Northern Ireland. What are the odds of finding one burnt out so close?”
She wasn’t persuaded. “And how many in the whole of Ireland? How many on the ferries to mainland UK and Europe this week, not to mention the ones already replated and sprayed by now? They’d have to be a real amateur to burn the van out so close by.”
Craig’s face fell. Liam wasn’t as quiet in his disappointment.
“Ach, why did you have to say that?”
Craig shook his head. “Because she’s right, Liam. We’ll check, but the chances of it being our van are slim, unless our man was a complete novice.”
Liam wasn’t done. “So what does that leave us with? An expert stranger attack, or revenge by the families of the men on Lawton’s list.”
Annette scrutinised Craig’s face, reading something there. “Or the Super’s so…”
Craig smiled; Annette was on the ball. Liam looked confused. “The Super’s so? What does that mean?”
Craig stood up, signalling that the briefing was closed. “It means you all know what you’ve got to get on with and we’ll meet again at five.” He turned to Andy. “OK, show me that gun.”
****
The rifle looked just like any Ruger, except for the slime and weed that had somehow entwined itself around it, despite its plastic overcoat. The mysteries of open water. The plastic was in a separate evidence bag and Craig scrutinised both as they lay side by side in the divers’ van.
What would the gun tell them? That it was Oliver Bwye’s, probably, and that it had fired the bullets they’d found. That it had been dumped at the bottom of the lake at the same time as the bodies? Again, probably; forensics would prove that much using samples of water and silt. Craig prayed fervently for prints, but without them what other information did the rifle’s discovery yield? It said what they already knew, that there was a third person in the boat. There was no way Diana Bwye had survived her fatal wounding long enough to wrap the gun and dispose of it neatly in the lake, and Oliver Bwye definitely couldn’t have dumped it; concrete tended to inhibit athleticism.
So what did that leave? A third person, yes, perhaps even a fourth. Craig dismissed the idea as soon as it appeared; the McDermott’s boat was small and Bwye’s sarcophagus would have made it cramped; two more people was all that it could have held. Diana Bwye and who else? And was that person their killer, as most juries in the land would believe, or merely a helping hand after the event? Someone who’d assisted the Bwyes in ending their lives because that’s what they’d wanted to do, or someone who’d aided one of them in arranging both of their deaths?
He shook his head at the thought; not because it was wrong but because it was something that had to remain just a thought until he was certain of his facts. And there was only one way he knew how to get there; by relentlessly working the case.
****
Miller Street, Derry.
Craig knocked on the modern office door, not expecting the woman who answered. The building was refurbished and bright, like so many others in Derry; a testament to the work done to move the city from its troubled past to the beacon of prosperity it had become. Derry was resolutely forward looking in a way that even the country’s capital hadn’t achieved.
But the woman at the door wasn’t modern in any way. Her hair was pinned in a bun at the nape of her neck, with occasional grey hairs peppering its native black. Her clothes were simple; a navy A-line dress from a catalogue, with flat lace-up shoes that matched. Only her face said that she wasn’t old; its absence of lines saying that she was probably younger than him. Yet she’d decided to present herself like a grandmother; Craig didn’t have the time to ask why, just whether her boss was in. Joshua Kelly, solicitor at law; the man that he’d come to see.
The woman smiled at the question and the smile lit up her face, shedding the years and making her look as young as she actually was. She waved Craig to a seat and lifted her coat before knocking on an inner door.
“Mr Kelly, I’m for lunch now. There’s a Superintendent Craig here for you. He’s your one o’clock.”
An innocent enough introduction in a solicitor’s office where the police were probably frequent visitors; inquiring about clients or seeking confirmation of court dates. But that wasn’t Craig’s purpose today. The secretary nodded goodbye as she passed, leaving him to stare at the inner door she’d left ajar. No man’s voice had said “Thank you” when she’d spoken and he’d seen no movement behind the door; nothing to say that the room’s occupant had heard. The two men waited on either side of the wood, until finally Craig heard a sigh and his name was called.
“Superintendent Craig, please come in.”
The man behind the door resembled his secretary in only one way; he looked much older than his years. Joshua Kelly, Josh to his friends, was barely forty yet he looked a decade more than that. Unlike his P.A his aging wasn’t a façade; it persisted despite his modern glasses and resolutely cool suit. Craig looked again and saw that he’d been wrong. Kelly didn’t look old; he looked exhausted, as if he was carrying all of his clients’ worries, plus his own.
Craig took a seat and scanned the solicitor’s lean face. Everything about Kelly was dark: black hair, black suit, tanned skin; everything about him but his eye
s. They were pale grey, so grey that Craig wondered if they were lenses, until he glanced behind him and saw a photograph of an older man with an identical pair.
The lawyer gazed at Craig for a moment then his gaze dropped to his desk; steel and glass, loaded with tired beige files and well-thumbed books.
“How may I help you, Mr Craig?”
He asked as if the answer was inevitable and Craig knew that conversational preamble had no place here. He played his cue.
“How long were you and Diana Bwye lovers?”
Kelly gasped so loudly that Craig was uncomfortably surprised. Had he got it completely wrong? The gasp faded and the solicitor shook his head, in a way that said Craig had almost been right.
“In our heads, forever, but in reality we never even kissed. Diana was a good woman; she would never have broken her wedding vows.”
Craig wasn’t giving up. “But she loved you.”
The solicitor gave a weak smile. “She said so, but it obviously wasn’t enough for her to leave Oliver, no matter how bad he was.”
Honesty was working so far, so Craig decided to go the whole hog. Whatever Kelly said wouldn’t stand up in court, but he could interview him officially later; for now he really needed to know the truth.
“Did you kill Oliver Bwye?”
Instead of the indignation of an innocent, the dark solicitor gave a tired shake of his head. “No, but I wished him dead a million times.”
If wishing someone dead worked there would be very few people left in the world.
“And Diana?”
The question provoked a very different response. Kelly leapt from his seat and stepped forward, looming over Craig. Craig was unperturbed. Years behind a desk would have made Kelly soft and he’d long ago prepared himself for pain; it was a requirement of the job. The sad thing was the idea didn’t bother him nowadays; he would almost have welcomed a blow. At least then he’d be feeling something.
The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) Page 29
