The Keeper

by Catriona King

  Ten minutes later he was in an interview room with his boss, commiserating about the mess that he was in. There was plenty of potential for jokes in the situation, but they could wait until Craig was cleared.

  The resting superintendent puffed out his cheeks and then shook his head at his own stupidity. “It’s my own fault. You and John both told me to get a restraining order, but I didn’t want to wreck her career.”

  “How did she get you there?”

  “She stole Katy’s phone and texted me that she needed me urgently. When I phoned back no-one answered so I had to go down.” He gave a small laugh. “Katy hadn’t even noticed the phone was missing. She hardly ever uses the thing.”

  “That’ll be easily proved.”

  Craig shook his head again. “It only proves that Sophia tricked me to get me there, it doesn’t prove that I didn’t assault her when I arrived.”

  Liam was having none of it. “Ach, there’ll be CCTV or something, and we can all testify that she’s been harassing you for months-”

  Craig interrupted in a despairing voice. “She had fresh cuts and bruises, Liam. She must have made them before I arrived.”

  “And a doctor will say so. They’ll be able to tell you didn’t make them by the lack of your DNA. What about the Doc? Can’t he examine her?”

  Craig shook his head. “Bias. It has to be someone that I don’t know.”

  Liam searched for something useful to say. “Well, he can give a second opinion at least. You’re allowed that, surely?”

  Craig shrugged. “I suppose so, but this will all take time and we’re at a crucial point in the case.”

  Liam smiled, relieved to be back on solid ground. There was nothing like a good murder to cheer the boss up. He updated Craig on the raid at the base and the file they’d found there.

  “Davy’s working on it now, but I’d say it’ll confirm that the Major knew something about our dead Vics.”

  Craig gave him a wry look. “Don’t you mean knows? James isn’t dead yet, hopefully.”

  “True. On that subject the smurf’s narrowed the car owners to four possibles, so we’re chasing those up now.” He glanced at the clock and stood up. “Come to think of it I’d better head on. I’m following up on a man in Katesbridge and if I leave it any later it’ll be pitch dark. They don’t light country roads at night.” He reached the door and turned back. “Nicky’s still outside, shall I send her in?”

  “Please. And tell Davy not to forget about the Murnaghans. I’m certain they haven’t just been gardening for all these years.” He checked his watch. “Hopefully I’ll be bailed soon and you can get me on my private mobile after that.”

  Liam arched an eyebrow at the words. If Craig needed his mobile he wasn’t going home as he’d been told, he was still going to be working the case. After five minutes briefing Nicky that he needed copies of everything, and a verbal update on how the press briefing had gone at five o’clock (not well) Craig waited as patiently as he could for A.C.C. John Byrne and Nicola O’Hara, his brief.

  The interview was perfunctory. Just telling him his rights and explaining things that he already knew; that there was CCTV and forensic evidence to gather and he would have to relinquish his clothes and mobile phone. By ten-thirty Craig had been clipped, plucked and swabbed and he was wearing the change of clothes that Katy had brought for him and sitting as a passenger in her red saloon.

  “Natalie’s driving your car back from St Mary’s and John says that he’ll call in after work.”

  Craig nodded silently, his mind on other things. Katy’s next words weren’t a question.

  “I know you’ll keep working the case, regardless of what the Chief Constable said.”

  He glanced sideways at her but she didn’t pause.

  “So if they go looking for you at home and you’re not there, what’s your cover?”

  Craig smiled. Smart girl; she’d just pre-empted his request. “I was hoping that you would say I was staying at your place and then warn me so that I can get back from wherever I am.”

  “Which will be?”

  He rested a hand on her thigh. “If I don’t tell you I can’t get you into trouble.”

  She pulled up to the electronic gates of St John’s Harbour and drove in as they opened, parking in her allotted space before speaking again.

  “Promise me you won’t take any risks, pet.”

  Craig reached across and stroked her cheek, not answering. Instead he mentioned the elephant in the car.

  “You haven’t asked me what happened with Sophia.”

  She held his hand, tracing the lines on his palm gently for a moment before smiling up into his eyes. “I don’t need to. She’s a predatory, troubled woman who John says has had you in her sights for months. This was bound to happen sometime and the evidence will clear you.”

  He gazed at her intently. “But that could take weeks. I need to know why you didn’t ask.”

  She kissed him gently on the lips. “Because asking would have implied that I doubted you, Marc, and that just isn’t the case.”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her hard, and every emotion he was feeling was in his kiss: worry, shame at the fix he was in, fear for his career and fear about the murderer still at large. But stronger than any of those feelings was love, a love deeper than he’d ever felt before for the endlessly trusting woman in his arms.

  ****

  Craig contacted John to tell him where he was staying and ask him to collect some things from his flat. When the pathologist arrived at Katy’s apartment Craig’s first words were “did you get it?” His second “is there anyone watching my place?”

  John laughed. “And a good evening to you too.”

  He saw that Craig wasn’t in a jovial mood so he held out the bag full of items he’d collected and walked past him into the living room.

  “This is a damn sight nicer than your place. I don’t know why you don’t just move in.”

  Craig wasn’t listening and he certainly wasn’t rising to the bait; now wasn’t the time to discuss his relationship status. He yanked out the file that Davy had pulled for him and dropped the bag at his feet.

  “Put the kettle on, John. There’s coffee in the first cupboard by the sink.”

  They drank in silence for five minutes as Craig read the file and John scanned Katy’s DVD collection for crime series. He was studying season two of The Wire when Craig finally stopped reading out of politeness and looked around for his friend.

  “What are you doing over there?”

  John’s tone was dry. “It was preferable to watching you read. I take it that you’re ready to talk now?”

  Craig waved him to a chair. “Go ahead. Give me the lecture. How I should have reported Sophia months ago, blah blah blah.”

  John raised his eyebrows. “If you’re going to be rude I won’t tell you what I’ve found out.”

  Craig sat forward, interested. “What?”

  “Please.”

  “Oh, God, all right then. What have you found out, oh mighty one? Please.”

  Playing hard to get wasn’t John’s forte so he obliged eagerly. “There’s something dodgy about Doctor Emiliani.”

  Craig shrugged. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “No. I mean really dodgy, as in I’m not sure that she was seconded to St Mary’s at all.”

  Craig’s ears pricked up.

  “Do you remember I said that I would check her out?”

  “And?”

  “And there’s no record of her being seconded here from any London hospital, never mind the Maudsley, and St Mary’s hasn’t had her on their payroll, not even for the last six months.”

  “But she told Katy and Natalie. That’s how she got involved in the sect case back in March.”

  John looked pleased with himself. “She may have told them that but did anyone ever check?”

  Craig’s horrified expression gave him his answer.

  “Obviously not then.”

/>   Craig’s jaw dropped. “You mean she’s not really a doctor?”

  “Oh, she’s a doctor all right. Qualified in Italy in two thousand and two and then specialised in psychiatry; I checked her out with the GMC. But she hasn’t been registered since twenty-thirteen.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that she can’t practice at the moment. She hasn’t worked as a doctor for two years and very few people deregister before they retire unless there’s a damn good reason.”

  “Such as?”

  “Career change, illness, sometimes people deregister themselves if they take a career break for a few years. Or… she may have been taken off the register by the medical council because there was a problem…”

  Craig’s mind was working overtime. “Do you think it could have something to do with her stalking me?”

  John nodded. “That’s what I’m hoping, but I’m having a hell of a time getting any details.” He lounged back in his chair. “In fact, I’m really rather pleased that all this has happened.”

  Craig’s response was caustic. “Yes. Being arrested and suspended is great. I’d love to do it every week.”

  John laughed. “Sorry, I see how that must have sounded. What I meant was now that this is a legal case we might be able to find out more. More specifically, we might be able to get hold of Sophia’s records and employment medical, and if I’m right, then what is in them will get you off.” He stood up. “Meanwhile, you should get your solicitor to check for any past convictions. If I’m correct you won’t be the first man that the lovely doctor has done this to.”

  He left, smiling enigmatically and leaving Craig wondering if Sophia Emiliani might have targeted him before she’d ever even arrived in Belfast.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Keeper stared at Stephen James’ half naked body, wondering idly how he kept in such good shape, and then wondering why he was wondering. The Major’s fitness was neither here nor there; it wasn’t as if either of them would live to see another year. When he’d pondered for long enough he barked out the soldier’s name and rank, knowing that even in the fog of semi-consciousness a true army man would respond. He wasn’t disappointed. Stephen James jerked upright automatically, his craggy features arranged in an impassive mask and his eyes filled with contempt. His captor smiled. He was a worthy opponent, this old warhorse, far worthier than the snivelling terrorists that he’d dispatched the week before.

  It made him proud somehow, as if Her Majesty’s military had done its job. Get them young and train them hard, so that they could face anything that was thrown at them, including death. For a moment he regretted what he was about to do, but only for a moment, then resentment and disgust blew his compunction away and replaced it with a resolve to make James suffer even more than the others had. They’d all deserved death because they were evil, but this man, this good man in everyone’s eyes, had caused his guilt, the guilt that he’d lived with for thirty-five years, and it had ruined his life. It wasn’t only the maimed and dead who’d been victims of Northern Ireland’s war.

  ****

  When John had left and Craig had spent ten minutes speculating about what the pathologist could possibly discover about Sophia that might get him off the hook, he turned his mind to what to do next. Not what to do physically, although he had glanced around Katy’s cosy apartment wondering if there was something he should do to help her out domestically; perhaps cook dinner ready for when she came home. It was a little known fact that he could cook, something that his mother had insisted on, but he decided against it. Sod that; he wasn’t hiding away in the house like a guilty man; he would take her out to one of the busiest restaurants in Belfast instead. A phone call later that option was gone; Katy was on medical take for Belfast and unlikely to get home until the wee small hours. It left Craig with time to kill.

  It was all the excuse he needed to go against Sean Flanagan’s orders and get on with the case. He lifted the file he’d been reading earlier and turned to the summary page. Georgina McAdam, forty-two when she’d been convicted thirty-six years before of the manslaughter of her husband, Kenny. Released in eighty-one, after two years in Wharf House. He flicked through the file for the details of the case.

  Death had been caused by a single shot to Kenny McAdam’s face; his wife had obviously been the Annie Oakley of the Demesne. The gun was an unmarked Glock and they’d found no trace of the lender, but a bank withdrawal of three hundred pounds showed it had been hired by Kenny, proof that he’d been the one planning to kill. The court had had a degree of sympathy with the wife over the killing, although why she couldn’t have taken the gun to the nearest station instead of using it to blow off her husband’s head was the nagging doubt that had earned her time inside.

  Craig turned to the back page and ran his finger down the names of the investigative team. The pathologist was long dead, as was the sergeant, and he didn’t recognise the D.I., but halfway down the page was a name that made him jump up from the settee. He went to put on a suit and then realised it wouldn’t fit his new underground status; jeans and a jacket should be the uniform of Marc Craig, Private Eye. After leaving a note in case he wasn’t back all night, he headed for the car-park; but not before pocketing the spare gun that John had kindly collected from his flat.

  ****

  It was eleven p.m. when Liam reached the farmhouse in Katesbridge, and barely eleven-twenty by the time he left. In between there was copious door knocking then hammering, window peering and lock rattling, as he weighed up whether owning a car that may or may not have been used to drive someone to their execution counted as a good enough reason to kick in a door. He concluded that sadly it wasn’t, although his right foot was itching to have a go. He’d have to wait until he had a warrant, and he’d need more evidence than they had right now to get one signed by a Judge.

  He turned his back to the empty house and spotted a small barn. A barn was the perfect place for torture and far less likely to be locked. He approached it cautiously, picturing an armed psychopath who’d already shot five people and slipping out his gun. As he edged slowly towards the closed door, his back pressed against the barn’s rough wood, he was sure that he heard a low pitched hum. A generator! The most likely source of their victims’ electrical burns.

  As Liam reached the entrance he tensed. Damn. The door was double sided, always a risky thing. Kick the wrong side and it mightn’t open, but you’d have given your quarry warning that you were there. The side with the lock was the safest bet, if there was one; a glance said that there wasn’t, the doors were held shut with a padlocked chain. Double damn. There was no choice but to kick hard in the middle and take his lumps.

  A boot to the door and a crouched entrance later and the D.C.I. was face to face with a large Billy Goat who wasn’t best pleased to be disturbed. As it pawed the ground angrily and tested the strength of its nylon tether, Liam rose, his face flaming with embarrassment, but he checked out the building thoroughly before putting away his gun. There was a generator, but the wires running from it and out of the barn said that it was powering the farmhouse; there was no sign of a torturer and his victim. As he exited past the goat his face flamed again and he was grateful that none of the squad were there. He stood outside, frustrated, and wondered what Craig would do next.

  After five minutes of scanning the adjacent wheat fields and searching for possible outhouses, he concluded that Craig would park the lead for the moment and leave to follow up on other things. He climbed back into his car, smiling, as he realised that was probably exactly what Craig was doing right now. Suspension or no suspension, there was no way he was sitting at home on his ass when there was a major case to solve. Liam threw the Ford into a U-turn and headed down the gravel drive, ignorant of the fact that a mile away lay a second barn and inside it Stephen James was fighting for his life.

  ****

  The Galwally Road, Belfast. 11.30 p.m.

  Reggie Boyd handed Craig a black coffee and stirred his
own Ovaltine before sitting down, glancing pointedly at the clock.

  Craig nodded. “Sorry, Reggie. I know it’s late. This won’t take long, I promise.”

  He tackled the issue hanging in the air first; the last thing he wanted to do was get the sergeant in trouble with the hierarchy. It could cost him his pension and he’d only a few years left until he retired.

  “I’m here unofficially-”

  Boyd waved a large hand, interrupting. “Aye, aye. I know all about it. Some lassie’s accused you of assault and you’ve been suspended for a wee while. If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, it’s a load of bollocks and everyone knows it.” He gave Craig a knowing smile. “Women, eh. Can’t live with them, can’t… ach, you know the rest. Anyway, don’t you go worrying about me. As far as I’m concerned you’re just a mate who dropped in for a cuppa. I could wake Anita up for a witness if you’d like?”

  Craig shook his head. “Dragging one of the Boyds out of bed is enough for one evening. Thanks, Reggie. I really appreciate this.”

  They’d broken the mould after they’d made Reggie Boyd. Pity they hadn’t made a few copies before they had; the force could do with them instead of more stuffed shirts. Terry Harrison’s face popped into Craig’s mind and he pictured him gloating over the news of his suspension. He shook the image quickly and turned back to why he’d come.

  “Did you remember a case back in seventy-nine? A woman called McAdam who went down for the manslaughter of her husband?”

  Reggie nodded immediately. “I’ll never forget it; I was a nineteen-year-old rookie. Georgie McAdam. Tiny wee thing she was, but what a shot!” He shook his head slowly. “She should never have been convicted. It was pure self-defence. The bugger had signed a gun out from the UKF planning to kill her, only she shot him in the head before he could.”