The Talion Code

by Catriona King

  Ronson was in just that sort of satisfied mood when his secretary rang and said that Marc Craig was on the line. He didn’t mind Craig. He was a decent enough sort, apart from his slightly too slick designer suits and all that wild Italian hair. What Craig needed was a trip to Robbie; he would soon have that unruly mane under control. It was with these thoughts in mind that Ronson lifted his internal line and said “Hello Superintendent” cheerfully, although part of him was wondering if he’d ever nicked Craig for anything, and making a note that it was something that he should strive to achieve.

  “Good afternoon, Gabe. How’s life in traffic?”

  For some reason the Gary Numan song ‘Cars’ popped into Craig’s mind just as he said it and he had to fight hard to stop himself humming a phrase. Ronson’s brisk reply quelled the urge.

  “Fine. And murder? I suppose that’s busy all year round.”

  “Always.” Craig paused, wondering how to broach the subject he’d really called about and wondering also how Gabe Ronson would react to Ash when he appeared. He decided that factual was the way to go. “I’ll tell you what I’m calling about, Gabe. There was an RTC on Wednesday in Chichester Street, and Liam and I happened to be at the scene-”

  Ronson’s words were out before he could stop them. “Did you cause it?” He immediately clamped his hand over the receiver and mouthed “damn”. He never had learned the slow approach to interrogation. What Craig said next reminded him why he’d always liked him, despite his untidy hair.

  Craig went to laugh then squashed it as he remembered the woman lying on the rain sodden road, instead replying calmly. “No, we didn’t cause it, but nice of you to ask.” After a moment’s silence that said Ronson was on the back foot he carried on. “It seemed to happen because the lights changed from red to green unexpectedly and the driver drove straight ahead without looking.”

  “He’s guilty of driving without-”

  It was Craig’s turn to interrupt. “I know what he’s guilty of, man, and he’s been charged, but it’s why the lights changed so suddenly that we’re investigating.”

  He forged on before Ronson could launch into a territorial rant and point out that Craig only worked on murders, adopting a senior officer tone that he rarely used. One that implied severe consequences if the inspector didn’t comply.

  “We think that it could be linked to some other cases, so I’m sending one of my analysts down to you. Give him access to all the traffic CCTV and the control room footage, please. His name is Ash Rahman. Thanks.”

  With that he cut the call, picturing Ronson’s expression as he did. He would be turning as red as one of his traffic lights and when he saw Ash’s blue hair and earrings, he would turn redder still.

  ****

  High Street Station.

  Annette glanced sideways at Jake, concerned by how pale he looked. It wasn’t because of his injuries; she’d visited him plenty of times at home, and apart from the fact he was using a wheelchair he’d looked as fit as he’d ever done.

  She didn’t comment on his pallor and she didn’t ask him how he was, just fixed her eyes straight ahead and imagined herself coming face-to-face with her ex-husband Pete again. She hadn’t seen him since the day he’d pushed her to the ground and stamped on her hand, breaking it. She’d been lucky; Liam and the boss had come looking for her and saved her from God only knew what kind of assault Pete’d had planned next. But Jake hadn’t been so fortunate; he’d lain on a stone floor for hours before he’d been found. Physically he was almost better, but his sweating skin and tightly clenched jaw now, said that his psychological damage still had quite a way to go before it was repaired.

  She was just wondering when the heck Jack would bring them through to the interview room when the street door opened noisily and Joe Rice and some uniformed officers appeared with a prosperous looking man and woman in tow. Annette crossed to the desk and stood beside Joe while Jack Harris attempted to book his prisoners in.

  “Richard Jamison?”

  “And the missus. On their way to Boston when they were lifted, so.” Joe moved to one side leaving Jack to it and turned to face Annette. “Is the chief with you, so?”

  Annette shook her head and gestured towards Jake. “We’re waiting to see Aaron Foster. I think the Super’s expecting you to call him so he and Liam can come down for Jamison’s interview.”

  The Cork man nodded. “As soon as he’s seen his brief.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Ronald Lewiston. Cherry and Moss, so.”

  Annette rolled her eyes; Lewiston was wordy and expensive. Jamison must have had more money than sense. Just then Jack beckoned her back.

  “Foster’s ready whenever you are.” He glanced at Jake. “He’s not looking great, is he? Is he absolutely sure about this? I mean, does he really want to hear Foster’s excuses? They’ll be a load of self-justifying old blether, you know that.”

  Annette nodded. “Jake does too, but he’s adamant. I think it’s like drawing a line under things.”

  Jack nodded reluctantly and buzzed open the side door. “Go to interview room one and we’ll bring Foster through in a moment.” He tapped Sandi Masters, the station’s W.P.C., on the back. “Tray of tea and biscuits, please, Sandi. But wait till Inspector Eakin gives you the nod before bringing Foster in.” With that he turned back to his detainee and resumed the booking in a bored voice. “Now, Mr Jamison, let’s try that again. Date of birth please.”

  “As I said. When I’ve seen my brief.”

  It presaged hours of uncooperative discourse, before they even got around to calling Craig and Liam down.

  ****

  1 p.m.

  Liam was reclining in his chair, legs up on his desk, when Craig emerged from his office on walkabout. It started with a quick glance at the wall clock followed by a longer scan of the room, which told him that only Davy, Nicky and Liam were actually there.

  “Where is everyone, Nick?”

  The P.A. answered without looking up. She had a report to type before two o’clock, at which time she was leaving to get her hair done. Her friend Suzie had finally found herself a husband and they were off to the wedding’s evening do at six.

  “Andy’s with Joe at High Street and Annette and Jake are there as well. Reggie’s off looking for Jackson Poulter and Ash has gone to the traffic division for some reason.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow and Craig shook his head.

  “I’ll fill you in later. OK, that accounts for everyone except Rhonda. Where has-”

  Nicky pressed print and interrupted him simultaneously. “The shooting range. She’s gone to organise her firearms update.”

  Liam guffawed. “I hope they can hear her asking over all that noise.”

  “Very funny. Nicky, do you know if High Street-”

  “Is ready for you yet?” She retrieved the pages from the printer, set them neatly on her desk and then lifted her coat and bag. “No. Jack says he’ll call when they’re ready. Richard Jamison’s still waiting for his brief.” She was halfway across the floor before she remembered to say. “Bye. See you all tomorrow. I’ve left some things for you to sign on my desk.”

  Liam was the first to comment. “Here. Where’s she going?”

  Craig shrugged. “Some wedding, I think.”

  Davy supplied more detail. “She’s going to get her hair done and then on to the w…wedding.”

  Liam pursed his lips in what he imagined was a feminine way. “Ooh. What’s she wearing then? Is it nice?” It was only when he added “Since you’re such a big girl that you know she’s off getting her hair done” that they realised he was taking the piss.

  Davy arched an eyebrow. “Neanderthals died out for a reason, you know, Liam.”

  Craig beckoned him across to Liam’s desk.

  “Let’s have a quick catch-up with us three, as everyone else is nowhere to be seen. OK, Davy. Anything more on CCTV, missing persons, or anything else you can think of?”

  The analyst shook h
is head. “Not much yet. The roads leading into the Titanic Quarter were choc-a-bloc, like you’d expect on a Friday night. Especially the ones near the Odyssey. I’ve been focusing on the half mile around the dumpsite but the s…street lighting around there is hopeless and any cars I can actually read the plates on all check out so far.”

  “Any pedestrians seen near the body?”

  Davy shrugged. “A few on the street and a couple on nearby wasteland, but like I said it was dark so none were clear enough to make a decent I.D. The ones on the w…wasteland look like men, if that’s any help. We’re running face and body analysis for matches now.”

  Craig puffed out his cheeks and thought for a moment. “OK then, how about missing persons?

  Davy screwed up his face. It was usually a good sign, meaning that he had something but just wasn’t ready to commit.

  “Maybe…”

  “I’ll take maybe for now. Spill.”

  “There were two men reported missing last night, both in their thirties. I chased it up and both reporting officers said that young males disappearing on a Friday night are a fairly regular occurrence in Belfast, usually because they’ve got drunk and gone off with some girl.”

  “OK, it’s a student city so I can see that. But surely men in their thirties-”

  He was interrupted by a shake of Davy’s head. “Even in their thirties, chief. The officers s…said it happens regularly, then they reappear on Sunday evening or Monday morning at work, doing the w…walk of shame.”

  Liam’s guffaw almost burst Craig’s eardrum. “The dirty stop-outs! Makes me wish that I was young again.”

  Craig retorted in a dry tone. “Did you actually do much of that when you were young?”

  A flush lit Liam’s cheeks. “Well no, but that was back in the eighties and nineties. Girls didn’t-”

  “You mean you were too well brought up to try anything, and you wouldn’t be any different if you were single now, so don’t go pretending that you would.”

  With Liam’s macho bubble well and truly burst he turned back to the case.

  “OK, so two men in their thirties missing, but the stations won’t call out the troops until Monday. Do we have their descriptions or photos?”

  Davy shrugged. “Both descriptions match our man. I’ve asked the uniforms to get photographs from the families and send them to me ASAP.”

  “It would be faster for you to pull their passport photos. Do that now, please, then get them over to John for comparison.” He turned back to Liam, just in time to see his blush subside. “Speaking of John. Did you get anything from him on the weapon or the forensics at the scene?”

  Liam shook his head huffily.

  “Is that no to both?”

  Another shake. They were obviously going to play charades.

  “So it’s no to one. Which one?”

  This answer required Liam to speak. He did so in a sulky voice. “No forensics yet, but Des thinks he might have matched the weapon.”

  Doctor Des Marsham was the Head of Forensic Science at the labs and an expert in his field.

  “And?”

  “It’s no help or I would have told you. He says it was definitely a rock of some sort, but the C.S.I.s haven’t found anything big enough near the scene yet, just gravel.”

  “Damn.”

  It told them nothing. He was about to ask another question when Nicky’s phone rang. It was Andy. Craig pressed speakerphone so the others could hear.

  “Is Jamison ready for us?”

  “Ready to say ‘no comment’, if that’s what you mean. You can give it a try, but he’s been in with his brief for ages, so I doubt you’ll get anything useful.”

  Another damn.

  “Are Annette and Jake still there?”

  “Yes. In with Foster now.” His voice became hopeful. “Do you really need me to stay, chief?”

  Liam couldn’t resist a quip. “Hot date, then?”

  “You’ll never know.”

  Craig intervened. “Yes, go home, Andy, and say thanks to Joe, but be prepared to come back in later if we need you. Tell Jack that Liam and I will be down in ten minutes, and if Jake and Annette finish before then can he ask them both to hang on.”

  He cut the call and readied to leave.

  “Davy, you might as well go home after you’ve sent the photos to John. Pick it up tomorrow. Who knows, one of our missing men might have reappeared by then.”

  “I’ll stay and work, chief. Maggie’s not getting off until nine.”

  Craig gestured to Liam and walked towards the exit, saying in a loud voice. “I was only joking, Liam. Reggie said you were quite a lothario back in the day.”

  It was all it took to make the fifty-year-old husband and father feel like a player again.

  ****

  Annette didn’t know how she’d expected Jake to react when he saw Aaron for the first time in two months. How did you greet a lover of ten years, the majority of them loving and happy, whose way of saying goodbye had been to launch you headfirst down a flight of stairs? And not expecting you to have just any sort of landing either, one cushioned by carpet or even a loose rug, but a descent that would inevitably be halted by concrete and ceramic, guaranteed to smash through even the toughest skull.

  “Hello” seemed too neutral. Calm and formal, as if the next movement would be a hand extended to shake. “Hello, Aaron” was far too polite and friendly, the use of a first name re-establishing intimacy, an intimacy that Jake’s headlong flight had severed instantly. “Hello, Mr Foster” would have sounded fine from her but ridiculous from the man who had shared his life for years. As she pondered the possible greeting Annette watched the two men intently, her gaze shifting constantly between the attacker and his victim.

  Jake had said nothing as Aaron had entered, and he said nothing now ten minutes on. He merely stared across the table at the man who had been his lover and, Annette imagined, given they’d been together for a decade at one time his genuine love. She’d seen Aaron before of course, across the room at team events. She’d even sat beside him once when Natalie had attempted a dinner party; an evening almost marred by the oven failing, rescued by a swift call to a takeaway by John.

  Back then he’d seemed...what? Pleasant? No, nothing quite that warm, but certainly personable. Personable enough that she’d been prepared to add a gloss to his personality and say that she’d actually liked him for Jake’s sake. Except that she hadn’t really, liked him that was. Oh, she hadn’t felt animosity, nothing that extreme, but on a scale of one to ten with ten being really adorable, Aaron Foster had barely scored a five in her mind.

  She chastised herself instantly for her hindsight view. Time to be honest. If Aaron hadn’t treated Jake so badly she wouldn’t have thought badly or well of him, she simply wouldn’t have thought of him at all. So there was no point telling herself that she’d known all along that he was a ‘wrong un’. He’d been a perfectly nice, quite handsome man. Full stop.

  But now. Now he looked far less handsome, his once rugged stubble adding to the grubby aura that always surrounded violent men. His bulging biceps seemed vulgar now, as each sinew reminded her of how he’d used them on Jake and she declared him guilty without a trial. She glanced at his eyes, brown and deep-set, and allowed herself another moment of bias; she’d never liked deep-set eyes, they always concealed things too well. As her gaze fixed on Aaron Foster his was just as firmly fixed upon the man at her side. She couldn’t say on exactly which part of Jake without turning slightly, so she inched her gaze round towards her friend and was viscerally shocked by what she saw next.

  Instead of the gentle gaze that she’d seen outside the room, albeit nervous, anxious, even afraid, Jake’s normally light green eyes glared emerald now against his dark red flush. His anger was palpable and growing, his fists clenched so tightly that the veins rose millimetres above his skin while the air around him blistered with hate. But there was something more there as well: confusion, incomprehension, the hurt of a ch
ild mistreated by the person he’d loved and trusted most in the world. There would be no “Hello” or “Hello Aaron”. Only one word was possible now and Annette nodded to herself as it hit the air in a wounded grunt.

  “Why?”

  It hung there, orphaned in the silence that followed. Finally answered unsatisfactorily by Foster’s shake of the head. It wasn’t enough, so the word came again; this time in a roar, repeated louder each time that the question was ignored.

  “WHY?” “WHY?” “WHY?”

  The last was so loud that Annette could feel the air around them shifting and she leaned imperceptibly towards Jake in comfort, as his throat filled with a sob. His head dropped, shaking from side to side slowly and then faster and faster, as if he could somehow shake his pain away. It made a sound so loud that she only realised Foster was speaking when some of his words had come and gone. She rested a hand on Jake’s shoulder to still him and stop him missing what he’d come to hear.

  “I knew I was losing you and I couldn’t let that happen.”

  Irrational, illogical; death would have been the absolute loss. Jake’s shout caught Annette unawares but she fought to keep her hand in place.

  “SO YOU THOUGHT YOU’D JUST KILL ME?”

  It was Foster’s turn to shake his head. “I…it…” Suddenly his voice rose to match Jake’s. “I DIDN’T WANT ANYONE ELSE TO HAVE YOU BUT ME.” Defiant, arrogant, in your face.

  It made Annette gasp and drop her hand. His jealousy was breath-taking. I can’t have you so no-one else ever will. Was this really what they’d come to hear? She watched the men face-off, one slim, pale again now, in a wheelchair, looking younger than his thirty years. The other bulky, brutish, a cartoon villain down to the exaggerated clenching of his jaw. Until slowly one man softened and whispered beneath his breath.