The Keeper

by Catriona King

  “Anyway, I’ve got the names of all the licenced owners and the names of most w…working recommissioners. I’m just waiting for a couple. Liam said to send the list through to Jack Harris so he’s tracking them down now.”

  “Excellent work, both of you.” He glanced at his two D.C.I.s “You two keep an eye on that, please. Andy, what can you tell me about Eilish Murnaghan? Liam, chip in on Gerry, as and when.”

  Andy shook his head glumly. “There’s nothing, boss. Eilish spent her days tending her garden and helping out at the local children’s charity. Apart from a few friends she had lunch with she spent her days with her husband.”

  Craig frowned and looked to Liam for a revelation. He shook his head too. “Sorry, boss. It’s just the same, except in Big Ger’s case you can replace charity shop with betting shop. And no, it wasn’t one run by McCrae.”

  Craig was unconvinced. “Dig deeper; there’s no way those old reds had laid down their manifestoes for good. Specifically check for any links with dissidents, and on betting shops run by any gang. There was money changing hands over those bets so they might have been passing information as well.”

  He sighed, frustrated. Unless they got a break very soon the case would go stone cold. The sudden sound of high heels clicking made everyone turn towards the floor’s double-doors. Craig’s first thought was that it was Sophia Emiliani and at a glimpse there was some similarity. Both brunette, both slim, but where the psychiatrist was shaped like a Coca Cola bottle the woman approaching them at high speed was as thin as a wraith. Her high cheek boned face wore an expression that said someone was in trouble and the way it was glaring straight at him gave Craig a clue who it was.

  He rose from his perch on Nicky’s desk. It was her cue to fill the gap with a tower of files and perch a stapler precariously on top. She couldn’t have said ‘don’t sit here again’ any louder. But Craig wasn’t looking at his P.A., he was considering the woman who was now one foot away. He extended a hand and smiled, hoping that charm would deflect whatever axe she was obviously about to grind.

  “Hello. Can I help you?”

  The hand was ignored in favour of a chair pulled so close to Nicky’s tower that any shift in the woman’s posture would have spread the files all over the floor. Craig tried again, minus his hand but plus an edge to his voice, irritated by the visitor’s rudeness.

  “Superintendent Craig. And you are?”

  The woman squinted and Liam caught a gleam of green in her at first appearance brown eyes. She wasn’t bad looking, but not his type. Too many angles; he liked his women curved. The woman’s reply was as sharp as her looks.

  “Irate.”

  Craig’s response was dry. “Well, Ms Irate. What can I do for you?”

  She gazed around the circle of faces and rose, deciding that their business required a more private space. Raising a slim hand she pointed towards his room.

  “Office?”

  It was on the tip of Liam’s tongue to point at the floor and say “carpet”. If they were going to play word games then he’d like to keep up. Craig saw the sarcasm looming and shook his head. He didn’t like the look of their visitor but the sooner he saw her, the sooner she would be gone. He ushered the woman into his office and shut the door, leaving the rest to speculate who she was. Ash went first.

  “She’s his secret wife.”

  Andy shook his head dolefully. “Can’t be. He didn’t recognise her and you never forget a woman you’ve been married to; trust me.” He shuddered like the two divorce veteran that he was.

  The suggestions got more outrageous, until, after Nicky’s that the woman was a tax collector come to query their biscuit consumption, and Davy’s that she was Terry Harrison’s love child, Liam shook his head like the wise old hand that he was starting to believe he was.

  “MI5 or organised crime. You’ll see. She’s either a spy or a spiv.”

  Nicky and Davy turned to their PCs immediately to check and then just as quickly realised that the woman hadn’t given her name and the police personnel database didn’t describe people based on how they looked. All eyes turned to Craig’s office. There was no shouting and so far no-one had come hurtling out; maybe all she’d wanted was a chat, albeit a grumpy one. They weren’t far off the mark.

  Inside the office Craig retrieved his charm and offered his guest a coffee without much hope of her saying thanks.

  “Milk, please.”

  Please. It was something at least. He set the cup in front of her and took his seat, steepling his fingers and waiting for her to start.

  “My name is Jennifer Somerville. I’m with the NCA.”

  He already knew where she was from but he arched an eyebrow, giving the impression of coolness while his mind raced through the range of things she might say next. The National Crime Agency had only become fully operational in Northern Ireland in May, and then working mostly on fraud and organised crime, so why had Jonno Mulvenna attracted their attention? His mouth opened but not to ask an important question; in his experience agents tended not to answer those. He needed some time to order his thoughts, but not silent time; that would only make her think that he was awestruck and he was long past being impressed with spooks, so he asked something that he thought might break the ice while his mind continued to race.

  “Is Somerville your real name?”

  To his relief she smiled. Not broadly, that would have been too much to hope for, just a small twist of the lips, but it was unmistakable.

  “Yes actually. They let us keep them nowadays.”

  “Shame. I quite liked the aliases. The ones that people chose told you so much about them.”

  He paused for another moment, growing more certain why she was there. Their trip up North had hit a nerve with some NCA operation in which Mulvenna had been involved. What the hell had he been up to? He’d convinced everyone that he’d reformed.

  Craig asked directly, not holding out much hope of a truthful answer.

  “What was John Mulvenna up to?”

  He was pleasantly surprised by her reply. “Nothing bad if that’s what you’re implying.”

  Mulvenna had reformed. But if he hadn’t been the NCA’s target then who had? Someone they’d thought he could lead them to? Republican dissidents! The agency had been using Mulvenna as a mole. Craig gave a low whistle. There weren’t many old warriors who would have agreed to work for the state, no matter how many years on from the fight it was.

  “Mulvenna was working for you.”

  She shrugged. “You didn’t hear me say that. But your lads have been asking questions and it’s rattling cages on high.” She paused to sip her coffee and glanced up at him through her lashes. “You and Inspector McElroy…” McElroy; their information obviously wasn’t that up to date. “…paying a visit to his house this morning didn’t help.” She set down her cup with a clatter. “It’s being watched by people other than our team.”

  Craig shrugged, unperturbed. “So? If they’ve been watching Mulvenna they must know that he hasn’t been around and probably why. It’s not a big leap that the police might pay the place a call.”

  In fact… watchers on either side could be witnesses if Mulvenna had been abducted from home, although he didn’t hold out much hope of dissident republicans telling them who’d killed a man who’d been spying for the government.

  He had another thought; could the dissidents have been involved in Mulvenna’s death? Granted he’d died in the same way as the others, but they’d already considered mimicry as a way to get someone else blamed for your crime with Billy Hart. Or maybe the dissidents had killed all of them? He was making a mental note to check when his thoughts were interrupted by the agent’s next words.

  “I know exactly what you’re thinking, Superintendent. You’re thinking that the dissidents might have been involved in or witnessed whoever caused Mulvenna’s death. Highly unlikely.”

  Craig didn’t give anything away. She leaned forward, her expression and tone becoming more intense
.

  “But even if it were possible I’m telling you officially to back off. This operation took a year to set up and you’re not going to ruin it, never mind endanger the life of anyone still assisting us. You’re not to contact the dissidents or sniff around them in any way. Use your other victims to solve your crime. Am I clear?”

  Craig ignored her. “Was that why Mulvenna was in Belfast? Was he working for you here?”

  She ignored his question, but a look in her eyes that she immediately tried to hide said yes. So Mulvenna’s work for the NCA explained his presence in Belfast; good.

  They could and would solve the crime on their other victims and the last thing he wanted to do was blow an important op, but he deliberately kept his face blank to wind the agent up. He didn’t like being told what to do.

  Jennifer Somerville was a woman used to getting her own way as well. Her voice grew louder.

  “Am I clear, Superintendent?”

  She was turning dark red so Craig decided that he’d played her for long enough. He gave a slight nod and then rose to open the door, much to her surprise. Tough. She’d arrived unannounced and demanded that he drop everything to see her; there was no way in hell that her exit would be to her timetable as well.

  As Somerville strode off the floor at as dignified a pace as she could manage, Craig beckoned the squad to reconvene. He motioned Nicky to nod once the agent had entered the lift and then brought the others up to date.

  “OK, I’m not supposed to be telling you this, so keep it to yourselves. That’s an order. Jonno Mulvenna was working undercover, spying on the dissidents for our side, hence the reason he was in Belfast instead of up on the North Coast.” He glanced at Annette. “We were spotted at his house this morning, and they’re afraid that if we keep digging we’ll burn a yearlong op.”

  Liam glanced around him, wearing a smug expression. “What did I say? Spooks or spivs. So which one was she, boss? MI5 or Special Branch?”

  “It doesn’t matter. The point is we now know why Mulvenna was in town for long enough to get himself killed.”

  Andy roused himself to comment. “Seems a pity if he was on our side now.”

  Craig nodded slightly. “He was likeable too, but let’s not forget that he was no innocent. We’ve all seen what he did during The Troubles and it would take a hell of a lot of spying to make up for that.” He turned to the board. “OK, let’s move on.”

  Liam shook his head. He knew what Craig had deliberately omitted to say. “The dissidents could be doing all the murders, or they could have topped Mulvenna to look like the others.”

  Davy chipped in. “Or seen whoever did kill him. W…We should interview them as witnesses.”

  Liam guffawed. “Aye, OK then. Let’s just phone up our well-known local dissidents and ask them for their help, shall we? Excuse me, sir, I know you hate us and would love nothing better than to blow us apart, but could I just ask; did you kill Jonno, or any of the following people, or perhaps you happened to see who did?”

  The group erupted into laughter, leaving Davy with a red face. Craig intervened, shooting Liam a reproving look.

  “That’s enough. Davy would be entirely right if we were talking about reasonable people, but unfortunately dissidents aren’t likely to give the police assistance. But it’s useful background to add into the mix.” He tapped the board hard, changing the topic. “OK, that takes any further digging on John Mulvenna off the table. Although I’m as curious as all of you who the government are targeting, we’ll have to leave it alone unless our investigation leads us back there.”

  Or not. Liam smiled to himself. He had a mate in the spooks who owed him and he’d be giving him a call once they’d wrapped up. Craig was still talking.

  “OK, that leaves us with Hart’s possible criminal enterprises, plus whatever else we can get on the Murnaghans, the car and the guns.” He turned to the analysts to see that Davy was still red and staring daggers at Liam. If he was him he’d be worried; Davy could get revenge in ways that no-one else could. “Davy. On the guns. How many recommissioners are out there?”

  Davy dragged his eyes reluctantly back to his smart-pad. “Five on the s…streets and one inside. A friend of McCrae’s. Gerard Bonner.”

  Liam tutted loudly. “Gerdy Bonner. He and Coyler, Ralph Coyle, were Tommy and McCrae’s running mates for years. I knew that bugger McCrae was up to something. Oh, by the way, he’s out on bail.”

  Carmen’s eyes widened. “You already got him on drugs and guns, how much more do you want? Besides, one of his old gang recommissioning weapons doesn’t mean that they supplied our killer.”

  Liam gave her a sceptical look. “McCrae knew two of our dead victims: Lindsay and Hart, and one of his old muckers revamps guns? You really think it’s not connected?”

  Craig thought for a moment. It was worth checking out. “OK. Liam, you and Carmen get back to McCrae’s and shake the tree.” He nodded to Andy and then rose to leave. “Andy and I will pay a visit to the big house. Davy, tell Jack to get the other gun fixers into High Street and Liam and I will interview them later.” Liam started to moan.

  “I wanted to watch the match tonight.”

  “Tough. I’ll see you at High Street at three. OK, everyone be aware that we might be briefing again at six. Nicky will let you know either way.” He was halfway across the floor when he noticed that Andy wasn’t with him and turned to see him still reclining in his chair. His next words were a yell. “D.C.I. ANGEL, SHIFT YOURSELF. I haven’t got all bloody day.”

  ****

  The prison was much like any other of Her Majesty’s Prisons. High walls made of grey stone. Yorkshire probably; Northern Ireland’s granite looked different. A double sided front door twenty feet high and wide, with a smaller opening cut on one side just big enough for a single man to walk through. Not two men side by side, numbers constituted a threat and why would two men walk in together anyway, when one was always a policeman or a guard, ushering the wrongdoer ahead of him in a supervisory way. Only one man ever exited at a time as well, at the end of their sentence when the cage door was opened, releasing them back into the world.

  Andy gazed up at the ramparts and then back at the perimeter fence guarded by two men. If the high stones weren’t enough to contain the prisoners, the barbed wire behind them definitely would be. He shuddered; not at the principle of captivity, some people definitely needed to be locked away. If there was good in the world there was also equivalent evil and some of it was locked behind those walls. No, he was shuddering in the way that he always shuddered at the concept of control, completely missing the irony of the job that he did every day. But then he’d never seen himself as an authority figure, despite the fact he wore a badge. He shouldn’t have been too shocked then to know that neither did anyone else. Skinny trews and a Toblerone in your pocket did not a scary cop make.

  His hatred of control mostly came from his marriages; he’d ended up being hen-pecked in each one. A psychologist would have asked him why he’d married dominant women, if he’d ever had the self-awareness to go to visit one.

  As Andy was thinking he stopped in his tracks so that by the time Craig was through the entrance he was nowhere to be seen. Craig emerged again with a sigh, to find the D.C.I. leaning against the stone wall, his fair head bowed in thought.

  “What now?”

  Andy’s head jerked up at his boss’ exasperated tone and then jerked again as he remembered where he was.

  “Sorry, chief. I got distracted.”

  Craig turned on his heel muttering “it seems to be a permanent state of affairs.” He added more loudly. “For God’s sake keep your wits about you, Andy; this isn’t the W.I.”

  Within a minute they were in the main building and in another two they were in the Governor’s office. Edward McKay greeted them warmly, albeit with a worried expression that Craig guessed was his default. Their visit couldn’t be easing his load. He handed round coffees, muttering under his breath, then he retook his seat and
repeated the words out loud.

  “Weapons. In my prison.” He shook his head forcibly from side to side, so forcibly it began to hurt his neck so he stopped. “In my prison.” Adding an “outrageous” in case they’d missed his point.

  Craig set down his cup calmly. “We’re not saying that the gun definitely came from here, Governor, but it’s a line of inquiry that we have to explore.”

  He laid out Gerdy Bonner’s background with McCrae and then McCrae’s with two of their dead men and McKay’s brow furrowed even further and his mouth adopted a downward slope. After a moment’s more headshaking he took some keys from a drawer, then he led the way like the chief mourner at a funeral, through long corridors downstairs and upstairs, until Craig was thoroughly confused.

  He was gazing through the prison’s windows for clues to their orientation when they halted by a small door. The Governor opened it wide and motioned both detectives in, then he sat beside them at a table and readied himself for a wait. Thankfully the wait was brief and within one minute the door re-opened and Gerdy Bonner appeared. He didn’t look pleased to see any of them.

  McKay shook his head like a disappointed parent and left with a “call the warder outside when you wish to leave” leaving them facing a man that Craig hadn’t seen for two years. Bonner looked better than Craig had ever seen him look outside.

  “Life in here obviously agrees with you, Gerdy. I’ll have to tell Tommy and McCrae when we next meet.”

  Bonner sniffed in a way that said he’d either got a head cold or had developed a coke habit inside. The latter would explain his unnaturally bright eyes.

  “Dun’t bother. They visit me every week.”

  Craig’s heart sank. That meant two things. The old lags would have told Bonner everything they’d discussed, and they’d be planning a reunion when the last member of Tommy’s gang got out. It had better just be a pub crawl if Tommy wanted to see his granddaughter grow up. Craig decided not to waste time on the future.

  “I want to ask you about guns, Gerdy. A Magnum Research BFR to be precise.”