The sergeant was still talking. “Her son’s staying with her, so that’s not too bad. Anyhow, what can I do to help you?”
His emphasis was a mark of sympathy for her task and she appreciated his offer, saying so. But how could anyone make the questions easier? She sighed heavily to herself, driving on slowly until she finally pulled the car onto the paved forecourt of a white pebble-dashed bungalow.
She was still talking when the man she was talking to, arrived at the door to greet her. His round, fresh face smiled at her pragmatically, and they walked together into the small room where seventy-year-old Bridie Hannigan sat waiting for them, surrounded by memories of the loving daughter that she would never see again.
***
Liam took the lift down to the fifth floor and after two minutes meandering around the un-manned foyer he noticed the corridor marked ‘detectives’. He wandered up and down it, confused for a moment, and then knocked hard on Geoff Hamill’s door. At least he thought it was his – the floor wasn’t laid out like theirs. All the doors were solid with no hint of the occupant inside, and there was no welcoming Nicky to greet visitors. It wasn’t homey at all.
The white door opened sharply inwards, and Liam fell forward from his leaning stance, nearly colliding with the man in front of him. Geoff Hamill sidestepped quickly to avoid being flattened; he was on the small side and Liam could do him serious damage.
Liam looked down at the other man, grinning. “Ach, Geoffrey. Have you never grown yet? Your mammy didn’t feed you enough.”
Hamill pointedly ignored the jibes. He hated being called Geoffrey and Liam guessed it, but you never let anyone on the job know that you really hated something, or they’d get years of mileage out of it. He’d had the piss taken about his size for years, but he’d made the minimum height requirement when it existed, and what he lacked in inches he made up for in mouth.
“And she fed you far too much, Cullen. You need to watch that paunch, man.” Liam looked down at his stomach, disgruntled, and silently sucked it in.
“Grab a pew.” Hamill indicated a seat by the desk and Liam grabbed it, exhaling as he sat.
“Right, the Vors.”
“God, don’t go mad with the small talk, Geoff. Will you?”
Hamill looked at him seriously “Sorry, Liam. No time. We’ve a gang war gearing up in Tyrone. Some dickheads fighting about who owns the streets.”
“Don’t you mean who owns the sheep, down there?”
Hamill laughed despite himself and it opened the door to a minute of banter, then he pulled the meeting back to the reason Liam was there.
“Vors. The quick answer is no. Not here in Belfast, not anywhere in Northern Ireland in fact, or in the Republic as far as we know. But...”
“Ah God, there’s always a ‘but’.”
Hamill nodded. “We’ve heard a whisper, and it’s only a quiet one mind you, that they might be investing in land here.”
“Land, as in farmland?”
“Nope, as in development land. We’ve nothing else, no names and no idea where. But if you get onto George Milton at The Met, he might tell you more. That’s it, as far as we know. Sorry.”
Liam thought for a moment, and something occurred to him. He stood up quickly and made to leave, then turned back, smiling, determined to have the last word. “Get some glass in that door, Geoffrey, or the next one might really stunt your growth.”
***
Liam took the lift back to the tenth, thinking. He was certain that land deals needed government permission - he’d ask Davy about it later. He sat down heavily at his desk and called The Met and five minutes later, he put the phone down triumphantly. He smiled broadly across at Nicky, who returned his look with a scowl.
“Here, what’s that look for? What have I done?”
“You? Nothing.” Then she looked suspiciously at him. “Well...not as far as I know. It’s Davy I’m cross with.”
“Davy?!”
He was surprised. Davy was everyone’s pet, especially Nicky’s and Annette’s. Whatever he’d done, it must have been bad. Then she told him about Maggie Clarke and the fact that Davy had spent the past ten minutes arranging a date with her, and Liam made the biggest mistake of his week so far. He laughed.
***
Craig stared at the black coffee in front of him thinking about Irene Leighton. She’d been alive between Sunday evening and Wednesday morning, somewhere. Part of the time had been spent at her mother’s, Annette would confirm exactly how much at the briefing. But for at least two days, according to the tattoos, she’d been held somewhere that she couldn’t escape from.
Her killer had access to drugs. Easy. Tattoo equipment. Easy. A secure location. Easy enough. A sniper rifle? Not so easy, but unfortunately not impossible. There were still too many guns floating around his pretty little country for his liking.
He tapped his pen absentmindedly on the desk. What did they have? The bullet, still waiting for a match. The print, perhaps a break. The husband. OK, Bob Leighton loved her, but he was a slippery bugger, and on coke.
He could search Leighton’s house and office and do him for possession of course, but he was holding back on that, to see where he would lead them. For the moment, he was more use to them free, and a drugs charge on a grieving widower wouldn’t do them any favours.
Then there was the man who’d called Maggie Clarke. Annette’s comments about Kaisa’s accent had reminded him to ask Maggie about his, but it hadn’t helped. The man had said so few words that all she could give them was ‘foreign’ and ‘European’. At a push, French. Languages obviously hadn’t been her strong point at school.
And what of Kaisa Moldeau? Leighton undoubtedly found her attractive, but had he actually done anything about it? Craig would bet that if he hadn’t actually committed physical infidelity, his fantasies had included her many times.
And where had she been between Monday afternoon and Wednesday morning at eleven, when she’d collected the boy?
He looked at the note that Nicky had brought in five minutes earlier. It was from Andy White in drugs, he wanted a meeting about something. He made a mental note to call him later. After ten more minutes thinking about the Leightons, he was going round in circles so his mind reluctantly turned to another area of his life where he was making no progress, Camille, his long-time ex.
She’d appeared in Belfast without warning in October, after five years absence, during which she’d moved on with another man and he’d built a wall around him so strong that no other woman could penetrate it. Their meeting had stirred up all sorts of unwanted feelings in him and he was still unravelling them.
After a week spent avoiding her in Belfast they’d finally met in London for lunch last month. He would have loved to have felt nothing for her. It would have freed him completely. But he hadn’t, he’d definitely felt something, and he couldn’t work out what it was.
She was still beautiful, still the same. No taller or smaller or thinner or fatter. Not even older looking, as if she’d been frozen in ice while they’d been apart. Except that he knew she hadn’t, that had only been his fate. She even sounded the same, with some slight, new, east-coast inflections sneaking in on ‘yes’ and ‘no’, and ‘Marco’. Otherwise, no change.
They could still laugh and talk together like they always had, remembering the years that they’d shared. And she was sorry, really sorry for what she’d done. Citing ambition and fear and...lust? Was that part of it, Camille? Was that why you chose him over me?
No! No. Her protests had seemed genuine and he thought that they probably were. This hadn’t been about lust, it had been about her ambition, and he’d always known about that. Her career came first. And the man that she’d chosen had helped her; he’d made her a success. Her phone hadn’t stop ringing during their meal together.
She was the same Camille that she’d ever been. Success had always been her driver, he’d always known that. It was nothing new. So what was wrong with him?
Why
wasn’t he sure anymore? Was he really so unforgiving? Or had something died in him during the five years of pain in between? But not everything, unfortunately.
Or had he finally just seen things that were always there in her, that his love had blinded him to? He didn’t know, he honestly didn’t. He knew that he still felt something for her, but what? It was like touching something through gauze.
His thoughts were interrupted by a shy knock at the door and he was glad of the rescue. It was Davy. Craig was surprised, and pleased. Davy normally asked Nicky to see if he was free; it was a good sign that he was knocking by himself now. Or so he thought until he noticed Nicky’s annoyed face in the background. Craig beckoned him in, closing the door and indicating a seat.
“What can I do for you, Davy?”
“S...Sir, I’ve information on a few things, but they can w…wait for the briefing later. I just wanted to get your approval for s...something. If that’s OK?”
Craig was puzzled but nodded him on.
“I’d like to take Maggie Clarke out for a meal.” He hurtled on before Craig could say a word.
“I know s...she’s a journalist and they can be trouble, but I promise you I won’t s...say anything about the case, I promise.”
Craig smiled to himself; so this was why Nicky was annoyed. She was being protective. He looked kindly at the younger man and smiled.
“Thank you for telling me, Davy. But I think that you’re responsible enough not to say anything inappropriate to Ms Clarke. I saw her draft of my interview and it was fair, so I’ve no problem with her professionally.”
He raised his voice slightly, knowing that Nicky was listening at the door. “If we barred everyone from dating people that they met through work, then none of us would ever have a relationship, given the hours that we keep.” He didn’t miss the irony in his own life.
“You have fun, Davy. It’s what being young is about. Now, was there anything else?
The younger man blushed and shook his head, then remembered something. “Yes, s...sir. Could you ask Nicky not to be cross with me anymore? I don’t w...want to upset her, but I have to live my life.”
Craig nodded. “Leave her to me.” Immediately thinking that his words were much braver than he felt.
***
Craig returned the call to Andy White, agreeing a quick meeting before he left for the day, so when Annette arrived back at three he called the briefing early, grabbing a chair out on the main floor.
“We’ll stay out here, if everyone’s OK with that?” He leaned back over the chair and smiled. “Nicky, could you join us? I’d be grateful for your insight.”
She knew that he was sucking-up and she wasn’t falling for it. But she was interested in the case, so she sat down grudgingly beside Annette, certain that she would agree about Davy, ignoring Liam’s attempts to catch her eye.
“I’ll summarise where we are, and then hand over to each of you for the detail.”
He handed out a sheet of A4 that detailed his earlier thoughts.
“Right, Davy. What have you found?”
Davy lifted a sheaf of paper from his desk and sat down between Craig and Liam, unconsciously looking for protection. He stared down at his papers, refusing to meet Nicky’s eye.
“First, the bullet that Dr W...Winter found. It’s very unusual, a 338 Lapua Magnum from Finland. I’ve just been reading up on them, w...wait ‘til you hear this.” He pulled out a sheet and started to read.
“It’s the only calibre designed just for s...sniping, designed to penetrate five layers of body armour at 1000meters and kill. Effective range is 1600 to 2,000 meters. It’s a military anti-personnel round and only a few rifles can fire it. The S...SAKO TRG-42 and the A.I.”
He was about to go into more detail when Craig stopped him, updating them on John’s ballistic simulation and the likely position of the sniper. And then surprising them with the information that a search of the area had just yielded something. The call had come in just five minutes before.
“There’s a high rise car-park on Vernon Road and the roof provides a perfect view of Parliament Building’s steps. It’s in range, and when the C.S.I.s searched it they found a spent cigarette, so we’re hoping that it will yield something.”
Liam looked sceptical. “If they’re professional enough to kill like this, are they likely to leave a clue?”
Craig nodded, smiling. It was exactly what he had thought. “I think they left it deliberately, Liam. It won’t link to them but it might give us something to follow.”
“Like the print, sir.” Craig nodded at Annette. Just like the print.
“Keep going, Davy.”
“W...well, I thought that we s...should be looking, not only for a ballistics match, but as the bullet itself is so unusual, look for any use of that bullet elsewhere at all. I’ve been searching under all possible parameters.”
“Great idea, lad.”
“I used international databases and there have been two relevant cases in London over the past thirteen months. Both 338 Lapua Magnums, but no sign of the guns. They also had a s...similar killing in Paris two years ago. The London contact is an Inspector Yemi Idowu and the Paris contact is an Inspector Chevalier.” Craig smiled broadly. He knew Yemi well; they’d been friends at The Met for years.
“Paris w...was the only one outside the U.K. This may be a new s...shooter in the past two years. Or someone who graduated to it from other things.”
“Or someone who usually operates in countries where death’s so commonplace that it doesn’t even merit an investigation.”
Davy nodded slowly. “They were professional hits without a doubt. One bullet each time. To judge the distance and velocity of a bullet like that, s...so accurately that it didn’t go through the victim and hit anyone else - this guy is very talented.”
“We’ve a contractor at work, boss. And it looks like he’s just been here for his holidays.”
Craig looked thoughtful for a moment. “Anything on the killer themselves, Davy?”
“Only that London believes they could have had an accomplice.”
The young man who walked Irene Leighton into Stormont.
“The fingerprint hasn’t traced back to anyone yet, s...sir. I’ll keep going on that and on the D.N.A. from the cigarette, but...”
“Yes?”
“W...Where did they get the gun? I’ve never heard of anything that high-tech in Northern Ireland, even looking back at The Troubles’ database. And if it isn’t from here, then how did they get it into the country? And how do they think they’re going to get it out?”
They were good points but Craig knew that there were illegal ports all over Ireland, and even some legal ones with limited checks in place. He could feel a chat with counter-terrorism coming up.
“Well done, Davy, that’s outstanding work. Follow up the Paris and London leads and let’s see what the D.N.A and print give us. Annette? How was your trip?”
Davy blushed red and Annette smiled at him, earning a glare from Nicky that she completely missed, totally unaware of the day’s events. She sighed heavily before starting.
“Belleek is beautiful, sir, but I’d rather have been there in different circumstances. Mrs Hannigan is devastated, as you would expect. Mrs Leighton went down to see her on Sunday afternoon, arriving there about five. Her mother was delighted to see her of course, but didn’t know why she’d come. Apparently the call saying that her mother was ill was a set-up.”
Craig interjected. “Davy, run a back-trace on all the Leighton’s phones.” Then he remembered something. “And the Chronicle news desk as well. Maggie Clarke was tipped off and it may have been the same caller. We’ll probably find nothing, but it’s worth a try. Sorry Annette, go on.”
“Well, once there, Mrs Leighton decided to stay for a few days. She went out to the shops for some food around eleven on Monday morning and never returned. Mrs Hannigan was frantic, calling around everyone she knew, but she couldn’t get hold of Bob Leighton beca
use he was in Dublin. And there was no answer at home.
The first she knew of what had happened to her daughter was when the local police notified her of her death.” Annette looked down at her feet sadly. “She’s completely distraught.”
She fell silent and no one spoke. Craig gave her a minute, turning to Liam. “Liam, what have you found?”
Even Liam’s voice was hoarse at the thought of Bridie Hannigan’s loss and he coughed loudly to clear it. “Aye, well. I went to see Geoff Hamill in gang crime, and that was short and sweet. No sign of the Vors in Northern Ireland or the Republic as far as he knows, but...”
Craig and Davy leaned forward, interested, and Liam was gratified. “He did say that he’d heard a whisper they might be looking at land acquisition here. Development land. So I thought; land development would have to go through all sorts of planning permission, wouldn’t it? And...Bob Leighton’s in government and government gives land permissions, see?”
Craig saw and so did the rest of them. Liam continued enthusiastically. “Davy’s just started looking for anything relevant on that. Then I spoke to The Met about two things. They’ve been keeping an eye on Leighton and it seems he’s been spending the day visiting foreign embassies. They started to tell me the names, but he’ll visit a few more before he’s done, so they’ll e-mail the list through when he’s finished. Maybe he’s visiting them for energy discussions?”
Annette snorted and even Davy looked sceptical at the comment. Liam shrugged, that’s what he got for trying not to be cynical.
“Anyway, then I asked George Milton in headquarters about the Vors in London, and it seems there’s a whole nest of them in the East End. He wouldn’t give me any more detail and suggested a face-to-face. I thought you should do it, boss, seeing as you worked there.”
Craig looked at him sceptically, certain that wasn’t the only reason Liam was suggesting he took the trip. Liam caught his look and nodded. “Aye well, the baby’s due just after Christmas, and if I disappear to London now my life won’t be worth living.”
The Grass Tattoo (#2 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 9
