The Keeper

by Catriona King

  Annette thought for a moment. “Maybe Mulvenna had a website, or he was on social media and mentioned that he was coming to town.”

  It was a good point and one he hadn’t thought of. “OK, get Ash to check all that, please, but…” It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

  “You think Mulvenna was up to his old tricks? Maybe involved with the dissidents this time?”

  Craig shook his head hesitantly. “No…”

  She was becoming irritated. She had far more to worry about than his hunch. “Well, what then?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her tone but decided to park his hunch alongside his thoughts on Castlereagh. They had too many concrete facts still to check to spend time on vague ideas. He decided on an action that she couldn’t question.

  “A trip to the North Coast should clarify things. I want you along; I’ll let you know when.”

  Then he waved her out, reserving his intended ‘how are you?’ conversation for another day.

  Chapter Nine

  Dunmurry

  Andy clambered slowly out of his sports car, regretting the extra two grand he’d paid to have its suspension specially lowered; he was getting too old for athletic exits. Next time he’d buy a jeep and step down. Sitting above the traffic would make him feel superior as well; which probably explained the behaviour of some people-carrier driving mums.

  As he ambled up Jake’s short, neat path, flanked on both sides by laburnums, he wondered why the sergeant had chosen to live out in the burbs. It wouldn’t have been his choice at thirty. Back then he’d been between marriages and fancy free, much like he was again now, and a city centre pad had been his home. Rented admittedly, alimony hadn’t allowed him to stretch to a second mortgage, at least not until marriage number two and then only because Donna had had a decent job. Sadly when they’d parted she’d taken the house and now he was back in another flat. What was it with women and houses? His ex-wives had loved theirs more than they’d loved almost anything, except for their high-heeled shoes.

  He looked around as if expecting someone to answer his question, but the only living thing he could see was a fat grey cat. It gazed disdainfully at him from a flowerbed, its proprietary stance saying that it owned the house. As the D.C.I. reached up to ring the doorbell it confirmed as much by hissing loudly, like a feline burglar alarm.

  There was no reply. Three more rings at minute intervals brought more of the same, so Andy edged past the sentinel and went round to the rear, peering through the Provençale style kitchen blinds. Still nothing. He returned to the front door and this time lifted the letter box, expecting to see nothing but an empty hallway and leave with a sense of having tried and two men’s work still to do. He couldn’t have been more wrong. There, lying barely two feet from the door, was the immobile body of a man, and the head angled, leg bent beneath it figure was unmistakeably Jake.

  A harder stare brought the dark stain beneath his head into focus and Andy suddenly discovered a hidden strength. He strode quickly back to the gate and then turned and threw himself at the half glass door at a run, shattering panes and banging the Yale lock open with a shoulder charge that would have done Liam proud. A quick check said the squad’s sergeant was still breathing, but only just. Andy’s first call was to summon an ambulance, his second was to Craig.

  ****

  Craig nodded as he listened to the trauma consultant then he signed off and turned to the two other detectives, glancing quickly past the blood-stained floor as he did. Jake’s vital fluid was smeared on every stair from the landing to the hall, saying that it had sprayed on all of them on the way down. Liam gestured at a hand print on the wall.

  “He tried to break his fall.”

  Craig didn’t nod. “If it’s his hand.”

  Andy gawped at him. “You think he was pushed? By who?”

  Craig’s answer was a raised eyebrow and it was Liam’s turn to gawp.

  “Aaron? You think he did this?”

  “Why do you think I called in the C.S.I.s? You saw Jake’s bruises at work.”

  “Aye, but he said he’d been in a fight…” His voice tailed off.

  “And how many battered women say that they’ve walked into doors?” Craig nodded at the phone still in his hand. “It’s not just my opinion. The consultant said Jake has bruises of varying ages on his torso. He asked me if he’d got them on a job.”

  Liam looked concerned. “How is he?”

  Craig shook his dark head. “Not good. Still unconscious and the Doc says it’s touch and go if he’ll pull through. Even if he does he could be out of commission for months. He fractured his skull and spine in the fall and lost a lot of blood.”

  Andy found his voice, returning to the cause of Jake’s fall. “It’s a bit of a leap from a punch-up between partners to one pushing the other one down the stairs, chief. It could have been an accident.”

  “Maybe.” Craig sounded unconvinced. “But then why didn’t Aaron call an ambulance and where the heck is he now? Jake has hypothermia which means he must have been lying here all night.”

  Liam was gazing around him, not sure what he was looking for. “What does Aaron do for a living? Maybe he’s away for work?”

  Craig shook his head. “He’s a draughtsman. Mainly works from home.” He climbed the stairs as he talked, scrutinising each spindle of the wooden banister. When he got to the top he stopped, picturing Jake’s descent. Twelve stairs and thirteen spindles with a wooden rail along the top, each one stained with blobs and smears of blood.

  “Liam, come up here, will you.”

  When he reached the landing Craig said the words most people long to hear from their boss. “I want you to push me down the stairs.”

  Liam’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Here, I know you piss me off sometimes, but not that much.”

  “Glad to hear it. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right. I’ll either stop myself or land on Andy.”

  Andy’s eyes widened in alarm. Craig was six inches taller and twice as muscled as he was. If he landed on him he’d be joining Jake in intensive care! Before he could object Liam pushed and Craig tumbled in what seemed like slow motion down the stairs. Andy braced himself for impact and was surprised when Craig landed on his backside at his feet. When he’d caught his breath he beckoned Liam down.

  “Good. You caught me almost unawares. I was half expecting to fall but I wasn’t one hundred percent ready.”

  He sprang to his feet, rubbing his elbow. “No blood, no fractures and not a mark on the stairs except for my shoe prints.”

  “There’s some of Jake’s shoe prints as well.”

  Craig was only half listening. He bounded back up the steps, beckoning Andy to follow. At the top he hunkered down, staring at the landing floor.

  “Liam, which steps have Jake’s shoe prints?”

  Liam counted, wagging a finger as he did. “From the top: the fifth, eighth and twelfth. It’s just on the edge on that last one. But his blood’s everywhere so he must’ve banged himself up near the top.”

  “OK. Which steps have mine?”

  More wagging and then “Third, sixth, ninth and twelfth.”

  “Every third step from the top.”

  As he spoke Craig reached out and gave the unsuspecting Andy a hard shove, watching as he fell, arms flailing to the bottom, where Liam caught him round the waist. He set him down hastily, moaning at Craig.

  “How come I never catch a beautiful woman like that?”

  “Because you know Danni would kill you if you did.”

  Andy gawped up at his boss. “You just shoved me down the stairs!”

  “Complain to your union. Liam, give me the numbers.”

  Liam peered at the stairs again. “OK, his shoes hit five, eight and twelve. Same as Jake’s!”

  Craig gave a broad smile and strolled down to join them. “Right, now all we need are Jake’s and Aaron’s measurements.” As he called Davy for the sergeant’s details Liam put on the kettle and they settled down in the front
room. Two minutes later they had Jake’s height and weight, and a guess at Aaron’s from the times they’d met him at team parties. Craig sipped his coffee, smiling.

  “It’s what I thought.”

  Liam raised his eyebrows. “Care to enlighten the rest of us?”

  “OK. When you pushed me down the stairs, I left scuff marks on the landing and stairs three, six, nine and twelve, because you’re four inches taller and forty pounds heavier than me.”

  “Here, I’m not that much heavier.”

  Craig waved away the objection. “Your weight doesn’t really matter, because even though I’m lighter it’s mostly muscle. It was my strength and resistance rather than my weight that dictated the impact of your push.”

  Liam nodded, mollified.

  “OK, so then I pushed Andy, who’s six inches shorter and thirty pounds lighter than me, plus he’s never lifted anything heavier than a spoon so he’s got far less muscle bulk.”

  Andy frowned and flexed both biceps. When they barely raised a bump he shrugged. Craig continued.

  “He hit exactly the same stairs on the way down as Jake, judging from his footprints. They both left marks on the top landing, then had a high take-off in response to being pushed and landed next on stair five, then on eight and twelve. That means that whoever pushed Jake had the same height and strength disparity to him as I have with Andy, and Aaron does. He plays hooker in the local rugby team.”

  Liam shook his head between mouthfuls of tea. “What if he just fell down on his own?”

  Craig walked into the hall with the others following.

  “Here, are you going down again, boss? You’re game.”

  “Nope, but you are.” He gestured towards the stairs. “Off you go. Andy and I will catch you.”

  Liam couldn’t find a valid excuse to avoid it so he stomped up the stairs grumbling and braced himself for the fall.

  “Bear in mind that Liam knows he’s going to fall so-”

  He was interrupted by a loud thud as Liam hit the first step. A moment later he was lying at their feet, whining.

  “Here, I thought you two were going to catch me?”

  “You were too quick.” Craig climbed past him, striding up to the top. “You hit two, five, eight and then the hall; a completely different pattern from the one Jake left. He had a high take-off just like Andy. ” He ran down and past Liam to the front door. “OK, I’ll email Des our results and then Liam and I are going to see Jake’s grandmother. Andy, you stay here in case Aaron reappears; I want his immediate reaction when he sees you. I also want the house sealed. This is an attempted murder now.”

  Andy made a face. “But I’ve got a second date tonight. And what about me following up on Eilish Murnaghan?”

  They were halfway down the path when Craig shouted back. “Murnaghan’s not going anywhere. Follow it up tomorrow. And as far as your social life is concerned, you’re on-call all week so you can whistle for it until the case is solved.”

  ****

  It was almost over; only the one who had led it all years before was left. The old soldier; not content with killing people on some foreign battle field he’d had to bring his tactics across the sea onto his turf.

  The Keeper thought about his next target, picturing the man that he’d met almost forty years before. He’d been a young warrior then, full of testosterone and ambition and not caring what damage he did on his way up. He hadn’t seen him in all that time, but he knew that he wouldn’t have changed too much. Men like that didn’t grow slothful or obese; they stayed hard and fit, always hoping for one last fight.

  As he drove towards the motorway he knew exactly where the man would die. It would be fitting; full circle, in the place where it had all begun.

  ****

  The rest of the day was spent on interviews and research, with Davy and Ash viewing CCTV and arrest records until they were cross eyed, and Liam and Craig deciding that if they had to interview one more person they were heading for the pub to get drunk.

  By the end of it they knew little more. The criminal records of their victims between twenty-ten and twenty-fifteen had arrived and revealed nothing that they didn’t already suspect. Lindsay, the Murnaghans and Mulvenna appeared to have been fine upstanding citizens, with only Billy Hart openly engaging in criminal acts. Maybe some people were just better at hiding their crimes than others.

  The navy saloons had been narrowed to twenty possibles, once the scrapped, the off road and the permanently garaged had been ruled out, but none of them belonged to anyone linked to their case. Even Rowan Lindsay’s sons had been checked out. Nothing. The only useful thing that they’d learned was that Jake had called on his granny at eight o’clock the night before, to ask if he could move in with her permanently. It was a sure sign that he’d been ending things with Aaron, something they would be questioning the rugby player about if he ever reappeared.

  At six p.m. he was still nowhere to be seen so Craig set Andy free to pursue his romance, replacing him with a uniform. Then he applied for an arrest warrant for Aaron and went to the hospital to sit with Jake. Judge Standish hadn’t been hard to convince about the warrant, he was a reasonable man and once Des had confirmed that the fall pattern fitted a push from someone Aaron’s build, they had the warrant posted and the hunt for Aaron Foster was on.

  Craig was just telling Jake about his plan when Katy appeared beside the bed in intensive care. She rested a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder and gazed down at the young sergeant.

  “That’s the second member of your team who’s suffered domestic violence.”

  Craig nodded. “It happens in every walk of life.”

  “But more often in the police?”

  He winced. “There’s evidence from the USA that cops are two to four times more likely to commit spousal abuse” Her eyebrows shot up and he added hastily. “But remember that neither Pete nor Aaron is a cop and people mess up their lives everywhere.”

  She smiled and squeezed his shoulder, knowing that he was more likely to hurt himself than ever hurt her. When he saw her smile Craig thought of the phone in his pocket, temporarily turned off, and toyed with confiding in her about Sophia. He thought again. It would only worry her and he’d worried her quite enough in the past year, what with his moodiness after an on-duty shooting, and his subsequent punching of a hole in some plate glass. Instead he stood up and led her away from the bed.

  “What time do you get off?”

  “Now, actually. Erin’s offered to cover me; that’s what I came to tell you. If you want to have a try at going out to dinner then tonight’s the night. I’m on-call from tomorrow morning for three days and you know what that means.”

  “No drinking.”

  She smiled impishly. “And no time for anything else.”

  It was all the invitation that he needed. It was time to forget dead terrorists for a few hours and try to have a life.

  ****

  10 p.m.

  A few hours was all they got before a phone call interrupted play. Craig disentangled his hand from Katy’s curls and groped behind him for his mobile phone. His telephone manner was far from polite.

  “What is it?”

  Looking at the screen before answering wouldn’t have made him any more polite as all it said was ‘private number’. It could have been anyone calling, but it was just his luck that it was the most senior officer in the force. Just as well Sean Flanagan was a tolerant man.

  The Chief Constable laughed at Craig’s grumpiness. “Best not to answer your work phone like that, Superintendent. You never know who it might be.”

  Craig groaned inwardly. “Sorry, sir. I was just-”

  “Trying to have a life because it’s a Sunday evening? Don’t worry. I sound much grumpier than that when I’m called at home.”

  He paused, inhaling audibly, and Craig knew that whatever was coming next wasn’t good. Katy straightened up from her reclining position on the sofa and stared intently at his face. Flanagan paused for so lo
ng that Craig gave her an ‘I haven’t a clue’ shrug. He soon did.

  “We have a problem, Marc.”

  Oh God. Why did no-one ever phone him with good news?

  “What sort of problem, sir?”

  “The media’s got hold of a rumour about dead paramilitaries and they’re beginning to dig. I don’t need to tell you what will happen to the peace negotiations if things come out right now.”

  Craig’s free hand went to his forehead, to rub at the headache that had just started to bite. If it came out that they’d kept quiet about five paramilitary deaths, the press would start to circle them like sharks.

  He made a suggestion.

  “It’s going to come out somehow, sir, so I think we have to grasp the lead. Call a controlled press conference and give the media a statement.”

  Flanagan sighed heavily. “I know what I’d like to grasp… The press is the bane of my bloody life. But you’re probably right-”

  Before he could say what Craig thought he was about to, he cut in.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I really think it has to come from your office. It’s the only way that they’ll back off. If I do it they’ll hound my team and we need to get on with the leg work.”

  He paused for Flanagan to object but to his surprise he agreed.

  “You’re right. But I’ll need more detail. Get a summary to my office before noon and I’ll call a conference for tomorrow at five p.m.” Then he chuckled. “Now I’ve an order for you. Get back to your young lady or whatever you were up to, and try to relax for a few hours.”

  The sight of Katy beckoning him towards the bedroom made the idea of obeying orders a pleasure for once.