Craig was quite sure of it but they didn’t have time for an old lag’s reminiscences of his youth.
“Well, Mr Richmond, what can you tell us about your next door neighbour?”
“Which one? There’s two of them, not that they’re there that much.”
Two? It didn’t sound right.
“Two men?”
Richmond shook his head, barely greying despite his years. “Man and a woman. Young.” His leer said he thought they were a couple. Craig asked the question.
“A couple?”
“They’d better be, unless people hug their friends nowadays.” He puffed out his thin cheeks. “They probably do, come to think of it. What with half-naked-”
Reggie interrupted politely. They had better things to do than listen to a diatribe on the corruption of modern youth.
“Could you describe them, sir?”
What followed was a perfect description of Ronan Miskimmon as they’d met him at the RTC, plus or minus the red beard. Craig guessed that was his natural colouring. Before they moved on to the woman he showed Richmond a photograph, smiling gratefully when he confirmed Miskimmon’s I.D.
“And the woman, Mr Richmond?”
The leer returned. “Fine bit of skirt. Not too big, fair hair, but not one of them brassy blonde types. Thin too, I like that.” The leer became a sneer. “Mind you, the way she dressed. Hobnail boots and black. Horrible.”
Modern fashion was obviously on his diatribe list as well. Craig pressed on quickly. If Richmond was right he had just described Eleanor Corneau. Were she and Miskimmon working together? Had their convenient witnessing of the RTC really been voyeurism of a collision that they’d caused? He signalled Reggie to keep their witness company and walked outside to make a call.
“Davy, do we have an image of Eleanor Corneau from the RTC?”
“Yes. Do you want it-”
“To my phone.”
Ten seconds after signing off, his phone beeped and he re-entered the small house, to find Reggie and Richmond sharing a joke. He waited until they’d finished then held his phone out for the pensioner to see.
“Does this look like the girl, Mr Richmond?”
Richmond peered at the screen then put on his glasses for a better look. Eventually he nodded. “Aye, that’s her. Hugging away like-”
He’d heard enough of the pair’s mating habits.
“People hug their friends nowadays, Mr Richmond. Right, I’m going to leave Sergeant Boyd here with you for a while. He’ll be asking a few more questions about the comings and goings next door if that’s OK?”
A cynical “and if it isn’t?” was his only reply.
Craig moved next door joining Liam, who was picking his way through a pile of plastic bags with a disgusted look on his face. He held one up at arm’s length.
“The way some people live.”
The pointed look that accompanied it said that if Craig didn’t move apartment soon he would end up in a squat like this. Craig hit back indignantly.
“My place is clean!”
“Clean maybe, but you could disappear under all the old LPs and books.”
Craig knew his selection of vinyl would be the envy of any collector, but he didn’t have time to justify it right now.
“The neighbour’s just I.D.ed Miskimmon and Corneau. He says they’re a couple.”
Liam gave a whistle. “Well, there you go. So much for random witnesses. The bastards have been injecting themselves into incidents from day one.” He thought for a moment then asked what Craig had already thought. “Is she just the innocent girlfriend or…?”
Craig shook his head. “There’s nothing innocent about her. Katy found her hanging around the HDU, remember?”
Liam went to say something else but the words died on his lips. Craig heard them anyway. While Eleanor Corneau had been checking out the RTC victim at the hospital, she’d checked out Katy as well. Had they planned to use Katy to derail him as soon as they’d found he was on Jamison’s case? Or just when he’d got too close?
Liam read his mind.
“They probably decided to target you when they realised we were on their tails. But don’t go beating yourself up about it, boss, there’s nothing you could have done any different.” He dropped the carrier bag and led the way out to the street. “Uniform can sift through that lot. What we need to know is where they’ve really been living, ’cos it sure as hell can’t have been in there.”
Craig needed to make sure so they re-entered Richmond’s small front room. He was surprised by the sight that greeted him. A tray of tea and biscuits was laid out and Reggie was hunkering down warming his hands by a flaming gas fire. He looked quite at home. He sprang up when he saw Craig.
“Mr Richmond’s just been telling me more about the people next door. They haven’t been living there, just calling in to pick up the mail. The last time was a few hours ago.”
Craig turned to the old man. “You’re sure?”
Richmond didn’t answer; he was too busy looking Liam up and down. “What the hell are they feeding you lot nowadays?”
Liam lifted a biscuit cheekily and took a bite. “PlantGrow. My mum used to put it in my milk.”
Craig returned to his question. “You’re sure they weren’t living there, Mr Richmond?”
“I said so, didn’t I?”
Craig bit back a retort. “Any idea where they were living?”
Richmond gave him a sceptical look. “Now, how the heck would I know that?”
Reggie saw Craig’s eyes narrow and cut in quickly, ever the diplomat. “Mr Richmond’s given me a lot of helpful information, sir. The girl usually drove a blue Toyota…” The one that had been dumped on the Dundrod Road. “…but they arrived in a jeep today and he got the registration. He also said their shoes were always muddy when they arrived, as if they lived somewhere out of town.”
Craig smiled. Good for Reggie, he’d practiced teapot detection; you could get more information with a good brew than with growls. He thanked Richmond for his help and then signalled for them all to leave. As they reached the front door the pensioner followed, opening a drawer in the hall stand and pulling out an envelope. He held it out to Reggie, pointedly ignoring Craig.
“You might want this. It came through my door by mistake this morning and I hadn’t got round to putting it through theirs.”
Couldn’t be bothered more likely. Reggie took the letter gratefully and exited, leaving the door ajar so Richmond could see what the searchers were up to next door. Craig nodded the sergeant to open the envelope. It was plain and brown with a Dublin postmark. The contents were more interesting; two visas for Venezuela in the names of Jack and Maria Harmon. He handed them to Craig as Liam looked over his shoulder, reading aloud.
“Harmon. Another false name.”
Craig’s voice was quiet. “They’re dated tomorrow. They’ve obviously achieved what they wanted to here.” He pulled out his phone and called Annette. “Where are we with the warrant?”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “Done and dusted.”
“Are you still at the judge’s?”
“Just leaving now.”
“Then go back in and tell him we think Miskimmon’s been living at another address under a second false name. Ask does that limit our access when we find him. I want this watertight.”
“Will do.”
He hung up and dialled again. “Ash, I need you and Davy to check out some visa details and the registration of a jeep.” He handed the phone to Reggie and leaned against the Audi, deep in thought. Liam waited till he saw him relax slightly before asking the question.
“OK, so when we get there-” Craig went to interrupt but he brushed past it. “We lift them both on suspicion.”
“Agreed. And seize any computers that we find.”
His expression said there was a ‘but’ and Liam sighed.
“Spit it out. You think there’s something else brewing don’t you?”
Craig nodd
ed yes but the look that followed said that he wasn’t sure what it was. He chased the idea but his frown said it was just out of reach. Liam was never one to miss a chance so he gestured to the street’s junction with the Lisburn Road.
“There’s no point us moving till the geeks come back with a definite address. Yes?”
“Yes.” Craig knew where he was heading.
“Well, there’s a café up there that, if memory serves me correct, does a decent cake.”
“God, are you ever full?”
“My legs are but my arms could do with a munch.”
Reggie finished his call and chipped in. “It’s called Granny Smith’s. Great apple pie.” He turned to Craig. “Ash says he’ll call back.”
There was no point going back to the ranch so Craig agreed.
“On one condition, Liam.”
“Which is?”
“You take the uniforms’ orders for tea as well and you carry them back.”
****
5 p.m.
An hour later their waiting paid off. The jeep had been registered at an address in Moygashel just that day and Davy had more information about their suspect’s names.
“Miskimmon and Corneau are both false names. As near as we can find Ronan Miskimmon died aged three in eighteen-eighty-one, and Eleanor Corneau was a French migrant who came here after the First World War and died in nineteen forty-two with no family. The Harmon names look like being false as well. We’ve found a Jack Harmon, again s…someone who died in Victorian times, in a house fire. We think Maria will turn out to be his wife. I’m getting the visas nullified on the basis that they used false I.D.”
“Good work. Text me the address and keep the pressure on Des to age up that photo of Warner Hamnet. Liam and Reggie are with me and the uniforms are still searching the Lisburn Road house.”
Davy heard him about to sign off.
“Before you go, chief. Annette wants to know what she should do?”
The detective thought for a moment. “Get the warrants to us ASAP, then either she or Andy can organise searches of any work addresses you find linked with Miskimmon or Corneau. Tell them to take Rhonda and Jake with them.” He hesitated for a moment before adding. “And ask Annette, if she gets a moment, if she would drop by the hospital and see how Katy and her mum are, please. I just get ‘critical but stable’ every time I call, but Annette’s a nurse, so they might tell her more.”
He wanted to be there himself, but he also wanted to get the man who’d done this to Katy and right now this was where he could be of more use. He signed off and punched the address into his sat-nav, praying it wasn’t another false trail but asking why, if it wasn’t, Corneau would have registered the jeep at the pair’s real address, and so recently.
****
Moygashel. County Tyrone.
Ninety minutes later they were leaning on the roof of Craig’s car and staring down a muddy slope into the yard of a farmhouse. Jackie Richmond had been right about the mud on the couple’s shoes; the ground was like a swamp.
Liam stared through his binoculars and then handed them to Craig. “That’s the jeep all right. She must be a hell of a driver not to get bogged down in all that mud. Your heap will never get out if you drive down there.”
Craig nodded. “Then we’ll walk.” He took another look. “Someone’s definitely in. There’s smoke coming from the chimney.”
Reggie made a face and Liam noticed.
“What’s that look for?”
“It’s just…don’t you think this is all a bit too easy? They must have guessed we’d find them here eventually yet they’re making no attempt to run.”
Liam shook his head. “They thought they’d be gone before we did-”
Craig cut in. “No. Reggie’s right. They registered the jeep here knowing we’d find them, so either it’s another false trail and they’re not here, or they’re not running, which means they think that they’re flameproof.”
Reggie winced as he said his next words. “Aren’t they, sir? What do we have on them really? Some photos of a man that may or may not be Miskimmon, and even if we prove it was him at the Titanic Quarter that night we’ve no footage of him actually killing Guthrie and none of his DNA on the weapon. And maybe he was talking to Terry Mallon, but we’ve only Mallon’s word for what he said and he’s hardly a reliable witness. He could have bullshitted The Mirror all by himself. All we really have is that Miskimmon and Corneau happened to witness an RTC you came across and Miskimmon happened to be close by when Katy had her accident. The first one was impossible to predict and the second was feasibly a coincidence in a small city like Belfast.”
He shrugged apologetically. “Sorry.”
Craig was undaunted. “No need to apologise, Reggie, you’re absolutely right. Everything we have on Miskimmon and Corneau is circumstantial except for them using false I.D.s-”
“Sorry to interrupt you again, but is that even a crime? Surely you can call yourself anything you like? It’s only a crime if you intend to defraud someone, and we’ve no proof yet that they have. Unless we find the hack on Miskimmon’s computer we’ll still have more evidence against Richard Jamison for Guthrie’s murder than we have on anyone else!”
Craig sighed heavily and Liam scowled at his old friend.
Reggie stared him out. “There’s no point you giving me the evil eye, Liam. You know that I’m right.”
Craig nodded. “He is, Liam. Unless we find something on Miskimmon’s computer everything we have is circumstantial or minor. The P.P.S. will kick it into touch. We have to find that evidence.”
“Or break him in an interview.”
Craig’s snort said he thought that was as likely as Terry Harrison sending him a Christmas card. He gestured at the farmhouse.
“That’s why they’re in no hurry to run.”
“But the visas-”
“We can do them on using a false I.D. for those but it will only stick if the Venezuelan government is prepared to play ball. No, it all hinges on the computers and…” His voice tailed off. The idea that he’d been chasing had re-appeared; still vague but definitely there.
He straightened up briskly and pulled out a coin. “You first, Reggie. Heads you come with me, Tails you stay here and wait for backup.”
Reggie gazed down at his nearly new shoes, picturing his wife’s face if he came home with them covered in mud, and tossed, praying hard. When the result was Tails he gave an unseemly whoop. Craig pocketed the coin and turned to go, only to be halted by Liam’s whine.
“Here, where’s my throw?”
“You don’t get one. Reggie won so that means you’re coming with me to the house. Just suck it up and accept you’re about to get covered in mud.”
As they started down the slope Reggie added a brighter note. “It’s supposed to be good for your skin.”
He didn’t hear what Liam muttered back but he was certain that it wasn’t polite.
****
Craig wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see when they’d hammered on the farmhouse’s door, but it wasn’t what greeted them. As he’d descended the slope, giving up worrying about the mud after the first five yards and tuning out Liam’s grumbles about his ‘good shoes’, he’d run through the possibilities in his mind, the way they’d been taught to at Hendon. First, were the couple likely to try to run? The fire was burning, there were no curtains twitching and no sudden race for the car, so either they didn’t know that they were approaching, or more likely they’d seen them as soon as they’d arrived and decided to stay put and brazen things out. Running seemed unlikely.
Second, scope out the perimeter for other exits and any that you find obstruct them if you can. They’d struck lucky, the house only had two doors and small windows, and a portable generator in the yard provided the perfect way to blockade the back. That just left the front door to worry about and what would happen when they hammered on it. That was when things might get interesting.
Everyone knows about fight
or flight of course; where would action movies be without the legendary effect of adrenaline? But rarely did anyone consider the third option; top yourself and your companion and go down in a murder suicide; or the fourth, a suicide pact. But Craig knew three and four were pretty unlikely, especially for a complex perpetrator like this man. If Ronan Miskimmon had the ego to pit his intellect against governments and big businesses, he had the ego to want his day in court.
As Craig ran through the possible scenarios Liam was running through options of his own, most of which involved a trip to Marks and Spencer for a new pair of trousers and shoes, and making sure that he paid for everything in cash. His darling wife had the unattractive trait of finding balancing their credit card an enjoyable pastime.
The detectives reached the front door together and Craig nodded Liam to take the safety off his gun. Options three and four could involve a weapon and he didn’t intend either of them to die that day. He hammered on the heavy oak door with his free hand while Liam prepared to kick it in with his boot. He was half hoping that no-one answered so he’d get the chance; as far as he was concerned it was their fault that his feet were covered in six inches of mud. He was disappointed then when the door opened inwards before the second knock and they were waved into a stone-floored hallway by a young woman they recognised as Eleanor Corneau. She stared at their guns with a jaded gaze more suited to une femme d'un certain âge.
“Those won’t be necessary. Ronan’s in the snug.”
Craig waved her ahead of him, not holstering his weapon; in his experience a criminal saying ‘you won’t need that’ often turned out to be a ruse. The snug turned out to be a warm kitchen come living room with a high backed church bench against one wall and a cushion covered chair set by an open fire. Miskimmon reclined on the former, as bored looking as his mate. He looked both policemen up and down as Corneau curled up by his side.
“What can I do for you, Officers?”
It was said with the same ego Craig had seen in him six days before and, although he could sense Liam’s impatience to throw the man face down on the floor and cuff him, he decided to play along with the game. Because that’s what it was to Miskimmon and perhaps what it had been all along; some sick, sad, vengeful computer game where the ‘oh so clever’ players watched the toy policemen chase their tails.
The Talion Code Page 32
