Craig sat up straight. “Liam, you’re a genius.” He continued as Liam acknowledged the truism with a smug smile. “Annette, call Jake and tell him to get Bill Reynolds into High Street. Cuffs, cell, the works; put the fear of God into him. Obstructing a police investigation or something like that. When he’s stewed for a while, he’ll tell us why Mrs Bwye saw Mercer.” He turned back to Davy. “Davy, ask Maggie to see if Rory Cahill knows anything as well. He keeps his ear to the ground.” He relaxed back in his chair. “By the way, did the tyres match?”
“Slash and all. It’s definitely the van that was here that night. W…We’re dealing with a novice, burning it out so close to the crime scene.”
Or someone paid to act like one. Craig shook his head; more pieces that didn’t fit. Annette thought of something.
“Was anyone seen on CCTV, near the van or getting into a car?”
“Plenty of images of someone near the van wearing jeans and a hoody, but they kept their face turned away from the cameras the w…whole time. The most we can s…say is that it was a man, around six feet tall and slim build.”
Liam went to ask a question.
“Before you ask, yes, they had a car w…waiting about a mile overland but they’d taped over the number plate and the cameras lost them once they hit the back roads. All we’ve got is a Ford of some description.”
Julia summed up the situation in six words.
“Ford car and average man; ubiquitous.”
Craig nodded. She was right and his guess was that their averageness had been a deliberate choice. Whoever had ended the Bwyes’ lives, or aided them to do it themselves, was being protected by their ordinariness. The description fitted Joshua Kelly, but it also fitted half the men in the room. He changed the subject.
“You said you had something on Mercer?”
Davy grinned. He’d never met Ray Mercer but he disliked him on Maggie’s behalf. “We’ve got him on a street camera entering the drop s…site. The guy behind the café counter seemed to know him, so it should be easy to check.”
Finally some good news. “Excellent work, Davy. Carmen, contact the café and follow up on that.” He paused, running through the outstanding issues in his head. “What about the names on Lawton’s list? Anyone in their families stand out?”
A shake of Davy’s head answered him. “S…Sorry, chief. I dug into the relatives of all seven, living and dead; kids, cousins, in-laws, but there’s no-one jumping out. And without a print or DNA to go on…”
“You could be there all year.”
Craig was mulling over whether to tell them his theory about murder suicide when the desk phone rang. It was Des. He got straight to the point.
“There was a print on the gun that wasn’t Oliver Bwye’s.”
“Des, you’re a genius.”
“Well yes, I am actually. It was hell to find. On the side of the magazine. They must have left it when they loaded it.”
“Name?”
“I’m running it against every print we have. You’ll have your answer in about an hour.”
Craig was pretty sure whose it would be; Diana Bwye’s. It was the only scenario that made sense. OK, it could have been the avenging relative of someone whom Bwye had wronged, but how could they have got access to copy the keys to the gun cabinet and the rear study door? And surely they would have worn a mask and gloves, so why the need to kill Diana Bwye when she could simply have been left tied up?
Bwye couldn’t have killed himself, and anyone he’d hired wouldn’t have killed his wife unless they’d been contracted to; contract killers only did what they were paid for, no more. The young lovers definitely hadn’t done it, he was convinced of that, and he couldn’t picture Joshua Kelly shooting the woman he loved.
He decided to outline his murder suicide theory to the group, but instead of the gasps of disbelief he’d expected he was merely greeted with blank looks. Annette and Julia asked the question together, the one he still didn’t have the answer to.
“But why?”
Annette continued. “Oliver Bwye would have been dead in months anyway so why would Diana have sacrificed herself?”
Craig countered with another question. “Did she know that he was dying? Do we have any records of her attending GP or hospital appointments with him, or of her being told?”
“I…”
“It’s something we need an answer to. Annette, get onto Bwye’s consultant now. Andy, you get back to the GP. And someone ask Jane if she or her mother knew he was terminal.”
While they made the calls, Julia asked the question again.
“Why? Even if she didn’t know he was dying, why kill him now, all of a sudden?”
“His violence had been escalating in the past two months; perhaps she was afraid that he would harm Jane.”
“So why kill herself?”
Craig thought for a moment. He was just about to share what he’d learned about Diana Bwye’s attitude to marriage, when Liam interjected thoughtfully.
“Has anyone noticed anything about this house? I mean apart from the weird windows out the front.”
Everyone looked puzzled, then Gerry ventured a design viewpoint. “She liked neutral colours?”
Liam raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t mean the décor, although thanks for that. I meant the religious stuff. There’s a bible or framed religious tract in every room and their bedroom was like a monk’s cell.”
It coincided with what Kelly had said so Craig nodded him on.
“You’re a bunch of heathens, and I mean that in a completely non-sectarian way before anyone gets on their green or orange high horse, and most of you probably wouldn’t know a bible if one bit you. But I’m telling you that someone in this house was seriously religious and I’m guessing that it wasn’t old man Bwye or the girl.”
“What’s your point, Liam?”
“My point is if Diana Bwye was that religious she would have felt as guilty as hell about everything. About marrying a man who was unfaithful and went to escorts, a man who hurt people during his career, not to mention that he hit her kid.”
Julia chipped in. “And her.”
Liam shook his head. “That wouldn’t have mattered to her as much as him hitting Jane. If I’m right we’re talking serious self-sacrifice here and people like that offer their suffering up to God. But when Bwye hurt other people, she would have blamed herself for his actions one hundred per cent.”
Julia was confused. “Not blamed him?”
“Well, yes, in a way, but even then she would have seen his deeds as evidence of her failure to help him be a better man. Religion 101; take the blame for everything. Trust me; I grew up around people like that, Catholic and Protestant. Northern Ireland’s falling down with them, and if Diana Bwye was that religious she might have seen her failing marriage and his violence as her fault, and maybe she just couldn’t stand it when she saw him getting worse.” He sniffed and folded his hands on his paunch like a priest. “Here endeth the sermon.”
Craig glanced round the group. Carmen and Gerry were both nodding.
“You agree?”
They answered in unison. “Yes.”
Gerry continued. “I’ve met people like that. They take on the worries of the world.”
“OK. So why not ask Bwye to leave?”
Gerry shook his head. “She would never have divorced him. Till death do us part.”
“Separation?”
“Nearly as bad. You’re damned.”
Carmen shrugged. “Or maybe she asked him to leave and he wouldn’t. Maybe he threatened to take her through the courts and go for the estate.”
Liam nodded. “Good point. You’ve another source of guilt right there; Jane would have lost her inheritance.”
Just then Annette finished her call. “Bwye never brought his wife to his hospital appointments and the consultant says he forbade them to inform her or Jane.”
A moment later Andy came back with the same answer.
Diana Bwye h
adn’t known that her husband was dying and that Jane’s torment had an expiry date. All she’d seen was an increasingly violent man who was making her daughter’s life hell.
Craig decided to play devil’s advocate. “OK, why couldn’t she have killed Bwye and continued living? She could have done good works as penance.”
Liam tutted slowly. “You’re missing the point, boss. She felt guilty about everything. She could never have lived with the guilt of murdering him, and she wouldn’t have believed that she deserved to live. If she killed Bwye she had to kill herself as well.”
It was a brand of religion that Craig knew nothing about. He was from a mixed marriage and was agnostic himself, but even his devout Italian family didn’t practice their religion in such a punitive way; their version of Catholicism included more festivals than guilt. But Diana Bwye was strictly observant and if Liam was right it fitted with what Joshua Kelly had said.
He thought for a moment. They had to wait for Des to call back with the print confirmation and for Jake to interview Bill Reynolds so there was only one more thing he could think to do. He picked up the phone and called the solicitor again.
“Mr Kelly, do you hold any documents belonging to Diana Bwye?”
Joshua Kelly stared nervously at the phone, uncertain how to answer. He’d felt interrogated when Craig had been there earlier and he felt the same way now. He summoned all his law school training and endeavoured to keep his voice calm.
“I hold her Will, but I’ve already disclosed its contents to your analyst.”
Craig paused deliberately, to make the solicitor anxious. He wanted to see what more came out. When he sensed Kelly wondering if he’d cut the call he spoke again, watched by his curious team.
“I didn’t mean her Will, Mr Kelly. What else did she give you to hold?”
It was a bluff and Craig knew it, but it was a bluff he was prepared to lay money on. There was a silence at both ends like some aural staring contest, until finally Kelly blinked first and sighed.
“She gave me a sealed envelope two weeks ago, with instructions never to open it unless I was forced to.”
“Consider this being forced. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
****
Thirty minutes later Craig and Liam were seated at Joshua Kelly’s desk, staring at an envelope sealed with red wax. Liam gestured at the image embossed on it.
“What’s the seal?”
“The D’Arcy family crest. They were aristocracy in their day. They owned half the land from here to Donegal.”
Craig turned the envelope over in his hands. Everything about it said quality, from the weight of the paper to the elegant black script on the front; ‘Diana D’Arcy’. She’d returned to her heritage in death. He had a good idea what the letter would say but a good idea never stood up in law, so he signalled the solicitor to open it, listening to the crack of the wax and the silky sound of the paper unfolding. Kelly read in silence for a moment as Craig stared intently at his face. As the lawyer paled and his eyes filled with tears Craig got one part of his answer; this man had played no part in either of the Bwyes’ deaths.
He nodded him to read aloud and they listened as Diana D’Arcy Bwye apologised to the world. She outlined how violent her husband had been ever since they’d married, and how he’d grown much worse in recent months. Her fear was that he would someday kill Jane, a fear that had increased since she’d married Richard McCann. The strain of keeping their marriage secret was beginning to tell on her, and she believed that someday soon her husband would find out and then both Jane’s and Richard’s lives would be at risk. There was no sign that she knew Oliver Bwye would die soon.
Her next words were telling.
“I don’t mind what Oliver does to me, I made my marriage vows before God, but for a child who deserved safety and love Jane was owed a better life. It was my duty to ensure that she had one and I failed.”
She continued that Bwye was threatening to contest the female inheritance line and sell off the estate. His threats were probably just to torment her, just as he’d done all of their married life, but she would have had no way of knowing that.
As Kelly read on tears spilled down his cheeks, becoming so heavy that he could barely speak. Craig took the letter and continued reading. It was a sad story of love and disappointment and when he reached the final paragraph everything fell into place.
“I have made a plan that I know will damn my soul, but I pray that God will forgive me some day. I’ve made copies of the keys to Oliver’s gun cabinet and rear study door. I intend to shoot him with his rifle and then kill myself. There’s a man who has agreed to help me, someone whom you will never find. His only task is to take us in a van to the lake and dispose of us both there. Oliver is evil so he must suffer when he dies and I’ve found a way to ensure that.”
Liam murmured “the concrete” as Craig read on.
“Then I will kill myself. This man’s job is only to put us in the water and dispose of the gun and van. I borrowed the van from The Belfast Chronicle; it seemed fitting somehow. I ask two things of the police. Do not pursue this man; he is nothing, just a friend who has suffered a great deal in his life and agreed to help someone else in pain. He didn’t kill either of us. His hands are clean. The second thing I ask is that you allow Jane to believe that we were killed by a stranger. I beg you not to destroy my daughter’s love for me by telling her the truth.”
Kelly had recovered enough to read so Craig paused at the final sentence and handed the letter back. “Finally, Joshua, you are a kind man and you deserve to find happiness. We were not to be. Perhaps in a different life. Love, Diana D’Arcy.”
Kelly set the page on the desk and dropped his head into his hands. The detectives waited for a moment, then Craig lifted the letter and envelope and slid them into an evidence bag. They left the office without a word, leaving a lonely man to mourn the woman he had loved.
****
Sunday. Midnight.
It was their final night in Derry so John Ellis had finally got his dinner guests. Five to be precise, once everyone who’d had a nearby home to go to had gone, leaving just the core Docklands team. Dinner was excellent, but at almost midnight, when all the craic had been had and Brenda Ellis was beginning to wilt, it was finally time to leave. Liam suggested they go in search of more drink, but in the wee small hours the only place still serving was a club. So that was how they found themselves now in a dimly lit nightclub in Derry, complete with throbbing music and matching lights.
Liam took a swig of beer and shook his head at the taste; he hated bottled beer but not many nightclubs sold draught.
“Aye well, that’s all the ‘i’s dotted and ‘t’s crossed. Reynolds confirmed Diana Bwye asked to borrow the van for a charity gift run, and Des has confirmed her prints on the gun.”
He said it like it was the end of the story but Craig was left feeling discontent. He’d updated Sean Flanagan a few hours earlier and signalled his desire to pursue the man who’d disposed of the Bwyes. Normally Flanagan would have been gung-ho, but swathing cuts through the force’s budget meant that justice wasn’t the only mistress he had to serve, and Mistress Stormont held on to her money like every other good-time girl.
“Sorry, Marc. Unless something obvious appears I want you to let this go. It could take months of man hours and we mightn’t even get a sniff. Even if we did what would we charge him with? Accessory after the fact maybe, but with no forensics even that would be a stretch. All we have is a letter from a self-confessed dead killer to say that he helped at all.” Craig had heard him shaking his head. “I’ll speak to the P.P.S. and let them decide, but my guess is their answer will be ‘not in the public interest to pursue.’ Don’t worry; you’ll have plenty to do after Christmas now that they’ve granted the Greer appeal.”
That was how he’d found out about Greer. It was probably just as well that none of his team had told him; he would very likely have exploded, like he had when he’d got round to b
ollocking Carmen for her cheekiness to Liam.
So here they were, drinking bottled beer in a nightclub in a last hurrah before they went home. Suddenly Liam nudged him; he’d spotted two dark-eyed beauties approaching across the dancefloor. “Incoming at three o’clock. I’ll take the one on the left.”
Craig shook his head and drank even more. The last he remembered was Liam being dragged round the floor by a short girl with the strength of ten men, and Davy deep in conversation with her friend. Carmen and Annette rolled their eyes, especially when Liam’s love interest told him he was a “fine big man.” Just what he didn’t need; an ego boost. Their cynicism changed to amusement as he fought off her good-night kiss and legged it out of the club. The photos would appear in people’s inboxes before the Christmas break.
Chap
ter Twenty
Belfast. Christmas Eve. 9 p.m.
The tree was spectacular but what John had done with the rest of the living room impressed his guests even more. Not only was the house a masterpiece of Nordic décor but he’d continued the theme with decorations from different Scandinavian countries. With glass icicles from Denmark and handmade decorations from Norway, the place looked like a snow palace, and when John turned out the lights and switched on the tree even the cynical Carmen gave an excited gasp.
Two hours and several bowls of punch later, the crowd of police, medical and lab party goers had thinned to a core group of ten, the rest hurrying home to fill stockings for little ones or open their presents in peace. Craig had been mellow all evening, aided and abetted by John topping up his glass as he’d sat beside Katy on a small chaise longue. She gazed at the tree like a little girl and Craig smiled and ran his fingers through her curls, wondering whether to give her present now or wait till they got back to her place.
None of them had noticed the front door opening, left trustingly on the latch as people came and went, and no-one had noticed the unwelcome spectre at the feast. John and Natalie were in the kitchen, giggling at the mess that would wait until after Christmas to be cleaned up. Ken was attempting to arm wrestle Mike in one corner, egged on by Liam and Jake. Only Annette, chatting quietly to Danni and the voluntary designated driver for them all, had felt a breeze as the door was flung open, and only she wasn’t blinded by the mulled wine, enough to see a camera flash.
The Sixth Estate (The Craig Crime Series) Page 31
