The Keeper

by Catriona King

  He turned his attention back to the room and realised that he wasn’t in one. Dull cement pillars and numbered slots said car-park even before he saw the sign. He was in an underground car-park in Belfast! He must have been driven straight there in the boot of a car. His abductor had to be cocky or insane to think that they wouldn’t be seen.

  But The Keeper was neither, or as least not in the way that Stephen James meant. The car-park was part of a commercial building in Bedford Street, a building that was currently unlet. Apart from the odd patrol by a security guard, a man who’d been easily subdued, no-one would come near the place until morning and by then James would have ceased to exist.

  While the soldier’s captor watched him in the darkness, trying to read his mind, the Major’s thoughts had moved on to other things, such as how the hell could he escape? He yanked his arms hard, testing the rope that secured them behind his back. There was little give, but if he kept up the movement for long enough the fibres might stretch and he would be able to free one hand. He began the task, knowing that each motion had to be kept small to avoid his kidnapper’s gaze. As he stretched his bonds his mind returned to the man’s identity.

  He’d accused him of crimes that indicated that he’d known him in the past, so James closed his eyes and tried to remember if he’d seen his captor’s face before. Nothing. He hadn’t been a soldier, that much he was sure of; he remembered every man who’d ever been under his charge. A prisoner then? Maybe, but not one that he’d dealt with personally. Maybe the man was holding a grudge on someone else’s behalf? James’ face flamed as he remembered some of the tactics they’d employed on the men that they’d held. Would he do it now? He went to say no but something stopped him. When you had a bomb planted somewhere that it could kill hundreds of innocents, what wouldn’t you do to locate it, including beating and torturing?

  He shook his head. He would do it all again in a heartbeat, even if fashionable thinking said that made him a psychopath. Maybe it was simple; he was going to die for assaulting some man that his jailer had cared about. As he pulled his wrists apart he thought again. What else had they done except interrogate vigorously? No prisoner had ever died on his watch, he was positive of that.

  Suddenly his abductor was standing in front of him. James made his movements tighter, smaller; desperate not to be found out. He stared directly into his captor’s eyes as he did, hoping to keep his gaze upon his face. To James’ surprise the man’s face widened in a smile that reached up to his small, dark eyes. It made the soldier shudder but he asked a question to hold his attention.

  “Where are we? Why did we move?”

  The Keeper smiled again, this time in a way that told James he was humouring him.

  “Why do you want to know? It’s not as if you’ll be going out on the town.”

  The Major held his ground. “I’m curious. Which town?”

  “Belfast” confirmed his earlier guess and he was tempted to ask “why?” again.

  He decided against it, knowing that it could force the man into an answer that he really didn’t want to hear. Not only that; it might back him into a corner. Once his captor said he was here to be executed it left nowhere else for the discussion to go. As Sun Tzu had said in ‘The Art of War’. ‘Leave an outlet free. Do not press a desperate foe too hard.’

  His captor’s next words told Stephen James that his foe was very far from desperate and he had definitely overestimated his influence on events.

  “I know what you’re doing, Major.” The soldier paled and stilled his hands instantly. “You’re asking me stupid questions in the hope of distracting me.” He laughed sarcastically. “As if I would ever forget why we were here.” He leaned in. “You’re going to die, Major, and to my timetable, not yours. You’ve given your last order and you’ve ruined your very last life.” He glanced towards the basement window. “When it’s time we’ll leave. Meanwhile, consider yourself on death row.”

  As The Keeper stepped back into the shadows, Stephen James started stretching his rope again, even though he knew that it was futile. His only hope of staying alive now was if someone found him, and even that slim hope was fading by the hour.

  ****

  4.30 a.m.

  Craig’s first stop was the squad-room and he was surprised and pleased to see nearly everyone still there in the middle of the night. He beckoned Annette and Davy into his office, ignoring the looks that asked what he was doing there and the equally curious glances at his jeans.

  “OK, Davy. Tell me about Castlereagh.”

  Davy tapped on his ever present smart-pad as Annette wondered if he slept with it in his hand.

  “OK, all of our victims were taken there s…several times-”

  Craig cut across him. “The station or the holding centre?”

  “Both. Their later visits were to the holding centre.”

  “Go on.”

  They had all been standing but Annette was tired so she took a seat and the others followed.

  “OK. Whatever your hunch was it w…was right, chief. During nineteen-eighty each of our victims was arrested and taken to Castlereagh holding centre, although all at different times that year.”

  “And let me guess, none of them was ever arrested again? Until the end of The Troubles.”

  Davy nodded. “Almost. None of them except Mulvenna was arrested for anything until ninety-five. After the IRA ceasefire in ninety-four they s…started being picked up for different things.”

  Craig nodded. “The government knew that The Troubles were ending so they had to make them serve some time in prison before something like the Good Friday Agreement happened and they were released for good. For appearances sake.”

  Davy wasn’t so sure. “But Mulvenna was arrested for that murder in eighty-three and put away for twenty years.”

  Craig shrugged. It was the exception that proved the rule. “He was set up by a police officer, Melanie Trainor, so my guess is there was no way to avoid him going down-”

  Annette’s face lit up in realisation. “But the rest of them… My God! You’re saying they weren’t arrested between nineteen-eighty and the mid-nineties because they were all working for us!”

  Craig said nothing, just stared into space. Not because she wasn’t right, but because he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. It was one thing using a government agent to spy on terrorists, but the state setting known terrorists free to kill again just so they could work as double agents was something else. The intelligence they’d provided had cost innocent lives even as it had saved others. After a minute’s silence he voiced his thoughts.

  “I think our five victims spent years as double agents for the army, Special Branch or MI5, and to protect their covers they were allowed to continue doing whatever they normally did.”

  Annette’s outrage was noisy. “That’s state sanctioned murder! Those bastards were allowed to kidnap, kill and bomb just so we could gather intelligence!” As she let rip Davy backed away; he wanted to be well out of range of her handbag if she blew. “Dear God! I’ve read about that sort of thing of course, and there are all those rumours about that guy Stakeknife-” Stakeknife was alleged to be the code name of a spy who’d infiltrated the Provisional IRA at a high level for twenty-five years, while working for the British Army. “But I never really bel-”

  Craig raised a hand. “I’m not saying I disagree with you, but things weren’t black and white back then. Either way we can debate the morality of it later. Davy, tell me about Jack Austin.”

  Davy cast a last look at Annette’s handbag and started to report. “OK, Austin emigrated to Australia and he was definitely there until six w…weeks ago; there was a piece in the local paper about him catching some big fish. Anyway, all attempts to contact him by phone or email have failed and there was no-one at home an hour ago w…when the local police called round. They found unopened mail dating from September the seventeenth, so I checked flights since then but there’s been no-one of that name on any flight, direct or
indirect, to the UK. S…So if Austin travelled it was under an assumed name. No-one called Joshua Quinn flew either and there’s no UK driving licence for Quinn. I’ll check for an Aussie one next.”

  “So it’s a dead end.”

  Davy shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I aged up Austin’s last police I.D. and I’m running it against airport facial recognition, but I’d s…say the fact that he’s disappeared from Australia is more than a coincidence.”

  Annette had calmed down. “It makes him a possible for our killer, but why do it?”

  Craig frowned. It was the question he’d asked himself as he’d raced back from the farm. He’d come up with a theory so he might as well test it out.

  “OK, let’s say that Austin was a high flyer, tipped for senior rank since he’d graduated.”

  Annette looked at him quizzically. “Who said that?”

  “Liam and Reggie. They both knew him. Liam also said that Austin was sensitive-”

  Davy gave a Liam-like snort. “I can guess how he put that.”

  Craig ignored him and carried on. “Liam said Austin became an inspector early, then he was seconded to The Met for a while before coming back to work at Castlereagh.”

  Annette nodded, understanding. “But not at the station. He was working in the holding centre, where they interrogated the really bad boys.”

  Davy jumped in eagerly.

  “And the interrogators included the police, army and MI5. So w…when they arrested someone who they thought might have been useful as an agent or snout they recruited them.” His voice rose in excitement. “Who knows, maybe they even arrested them deliberately so that they could make them the offer!”

  Craig waved them both down. “Again a debate we can have later. But as a hypothesis it fits all of our victims -”

  But Davy couldn’t be calm. “Major James might have been the army officer there at that time.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Annette looked unconvinced. “But why abduct and kill them? If Austin was part of the team who recruited, trained and supervised them as double agents, surely he would have thought of it as a good thing?”

  Craig shook his head. “Liam said Austin suffered from stress and left the force in eighty-one, a year after all our victims were recruited, if we’re right. So even if Austin had thought of the project as a good idea initially, he’d obviously struggled with allowing killers back on the streets sanctioned by the state. Maybe that’s why he emigrated - he couldn’t bear to remain living here because he would have heard about everything they got up to. But even in Australia he couldn’t avoid finding out.”

  She nodded. “OK… so his stress-”

  Davy chipped in. “Or guilt.”

  “Or guilt about what he’d been part of caused his breakdown. But it was thirty-odd years ago, so why start killing now?”

  Craig shrugged. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself for the past hour. The only thing I can think of is that paramilitaries have been in the news recently and it’s caused chaos at the Assembly. The first minister resigned on September 10th and if Davy’s right Austin came here a week later.”

  To his surprise Davy shook his head. “I don’t think it’s just that, chief. Yes, Austin could have read about all that and it coincides with the time he disappeared from Australia, so maybe he came here because of that and he probably saw the news about S…Stakeknife as well.” Stakeknife had been in the news recently and feelings were running high about the possible number of people he might have killed when he was undercover. “But there has to have been s…something in Austin’s own life that’s triggered this now.” He stood up. “I’ll dig deeper.”

  Craig waved him back down. “In a moment. Annette, I want you and Ken to supervise the searches in Belfast. Focus on the area near Castlereagh station. All of the others were killed near the scenes of their past crimes and my guess is that Austin sees Castlereagh as Stephen James’ crime scene. They had to have been tortured nearby as well; no-one’s going to drive miles with a man in their boot. We found James’ primary torture site at Katesbridge, so my guess is he’s been moved to a secondary one in Belfast now, from where he’ll be taken to Castlereagh to die.”

  He turned back to the analyst. “Pull up every CCTV stream in central and east Belfast and I want Ash watching them live for that Mazda, or the Ford Focus. Any sign of either car and you call me. I’ll be-”

  He was interrupted by Nicky barging in wearing a frantic expression.

  “Get out!”

  “What?”

  She rushed around the desk and pulled a startled Craig to his feet. “You need to get out now. Harrison’s coming. I popped out for some fresh air and just saw him in reception. If he sees you anywhere near this building you’ll be sacked.”

  Craig didn’t need to be told twice. He was in the lift to the car-park before she’d finished speaking, and heading for East Belfast by the time an extremely early-rising Terry Harrison appeared on the Murder Squad’s floor.

  ****

  Craig tapped his seldom used GPS into life, pulling up the streets around Castlereagh Station in East Belfast, in search of a suitable execution ground. Their killer’s M.O. had been consistent. Torture his victim and then move them to wasteland close to a site significant to their criminal past for the kill. He prayed that he was right and that Stephen James’ significant site was Castlereagh. The search in Craigantlet had yielded nothing, so it had to be.

  The uniform search was focused on central and East Belfast now, trying to find where the Major was being held, while he stalked for a suitable piece of wasteland. Unfortunately he found two pieces, equidistant from Castlereagh Station, so he called Liam.

  “Get to the end of Montgomery Road.”

  “There’s nothing there. They demolished the old houses last year.”

  “Exactly. I’m heading for the Cregagh, near the estate. They’re the only two areas of wasteland near Castlereagh Station: Montgomery Road and Cregagh. He’s bound to use one of them.”

  Before Liam could say anything more Craig had hung up, turning his rain lashed car towards the Cregagh Road and praying that it wasn’t already too late.

  ****

  5 a.m.

  Nicky gazed up at Terry Harrison innocently. It was a look she’d practiced for years before perfecting it, and she’d used it on her husband Gary many times to great effect. She found that it worked best from a seated position, yielding the double bonus of gazing up through her Bambi like eyelashes and making even the shortest man feel tall.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t seen acting Superintendent Cullen. We’re very busy, as you can see. Everyone’s been in all night. Did you want him for anything in particular? Could I get him to call you perhaps?”

  Harrison narrowed his eyes suspiciously, uncertain if he was being played. Nicky had been his P.A. for years before she’d been transferred to Craig and he’d trusted her implicitly during that time. In fact he’d even grown quite fond of her, or as fond as he could ever get of a lower rank. She seemed genuine in her answer, even pleasant, but he couldn’t be sure, so instead of answering her carefully crafted questions he turned to scan the open-plan floor. The only people there were Ash and Davy; everyone else was out on the street. Everyone that was except Carmen, who chose just that obscenely early moment to disobey Liam and arrive to collect her things. Nicky’s eyes widened as she entered, terrified of what might happen if she and Teflon engaged. She tried to calm herself; she was just being paranoid, after all Carmen didn’t know that Craig was still around.

  With horror Nicky realised that Carmen could still access the Murder Squad’s intranet and she could definitely add up two and two. She had to close out her access quickly, before she managed to log on and land the whole squad in the shit. In her panic to cover Craig’s trail Nicky hit the wrong key and crashed the system, making Davy swear out loud. He rushed over to Ash and checked his CCTV feed but thankfully it was on a different loop.

  Nicky blushed unde
r Harrison’s scrutiny and fast walked her way across the floor. As she reached Davy desk she hissed beneath her breath. “I crashed it deliberately to keep Carmen out. If she sees the boss has been here she’ll squeal on him to the brass.” A pointed glance at Harrison said the brass was too damn close for comfort. “Lock her out now and then boot it up again.”

  She turned to see Terry Harrison walking towards Carmen’s desk, where she was thumping angrily on her screen.

  “Is there a problem, constable?”

  Carmen rolled her eyes. “The system’s crashed again.” As she gazed up at Harrison she had an idea. “It’s always chaos around here, sir. That’s why I’m leaving. I just can’t work like this.”

  Harrison scanned her pretty features and long red hair, intrigued. She was quite a looker. Why hadn’t he noticed her before? Carmen saw his leer and shuddered inwardly but she swallowed her revulsion in the name of survival. Liam had left her without a job unless she could get a transfer, and Harrison was as good a stepping stone as the next man. On closer acquaintance the D.C.S. would realise that Carmen wasn’t a woman to be leched at, but for now they held a certain mutual appeal.

  He nodded towards the file box at her feet, picking it up chivalrously. “Are these your things?”

  “Yes, I was just collecting them. I’ve no idea where I’ll apply to next, sir, I just know that I can’t stay working here.”