Craig nodded. “Davy, there was something in the background. Can you enhance it?”
Davy muted the voice and drew up the background sound as everyone looked on.
Annette gazed at the computer screen. “Our Jordan would love that programme. He’s into making short films.”
Davy answered without looking up, engrossed in his task. “I’ll s…see if I can get him a copy.”
After a few seconds Davy sat back triumphantly and pressed play. They listened as the unmistakable sound of church bells rang out. Craig glanced at the clock. It was five past eleven. The bells had rung on the hour.
“Play it again and we’ll count the bells.”
Eleven. He was right. Their perp was calling from somewhere close to a church.
“OK. I want you all on this for the next hour. Ring every church in Belfast until you find out which one just rang the eleven o’clock bells and then get a sample of the sounds to Davy.”
“But that means we’ll have to get them to ring their bells, boss.”
Craig shook his head. “Most church bells are recordings, Liam. They only use bell-ringers for special occasions. They can probably e-mail the samples through. Davy and Liam, try the churches around Queens, the Malone and Stranmillis. Annette and Jake, you do the ones on the east side of the city.”
He headed for the door. “I’m going to my folks to explain why they’re on lock-down before my mother rings here giving you all grief.”
***
Mirella Craig was so excited to see her son and daughter appear for lunch that it wasn’t until after the Lasagne and Tiramisu that it occurred to her to ask why they were there. Craig’s father, on the other hand, had been staring at Craig intermittently since he’d arrived an hour earlier, bearing flowers for his mother and trailing his truculent younger sister in his wake. As Tom Craig started to form the question his son saw it coming and answered before it reached the air.
“I’m sorry everyone, but I’ve had to put you under close protection.”
Lucia already knew and she folded her arms firmly and glared, first at Craig and then at her father.
“I have plans for tonight, Marc. We’re all going out for Theresa’s birthday.”
“Sorry, Luce. She’ll have to celebrate without you. I wouldn’t be asking this of you if it wasn’t important.”
Mirella set down a coffee at her husband’s elbow and scanned the faces at the table with a puzzled expression. “What you talk about?” She squinted at her husband and then at Craig, suddenly noticing the undercurrent between them.
“Tom Craig! Why you look at Marco like that? He is my good boy. What is happening here?”
Craig senior smiled and grabbed his wife by the waist, pulling her onto his knee, much to Craig’s amusement. Lucia rolled her eyes. Richard had annoyed her on the phone the night before and she was completely off romance.
“What is happening here is that your son is basically telling us that we’re prisoners in our own house.”
Lucia interrupted grumpily. “I’m not even in my own house!”
She turned to Craig and scowled. “I’m not staying here, Marc. I had enough of the Take That décor of my bedroom last November to last me for ten years.” She folded her arms more tightly. “Besides, you haven’t given us any explanation.” She turned to her father for support, releasing one hand to point accusingly at her brother. “He just turned up at my work and made me leave, in front of everyone! I’ll be lucky if I keep my job, with all this carry-on.”
Tom Craig arched an eyebrow sceptically at his daughter’s hyperbole and then turned to Craig with a mute request for information. Craig sighed, not knowing how much to tell them. If he told them that he was under threat of death and so by proxy they were too, his mother would run round the kitchen screaming that the end was nigh. If he told them about his team having been armed and under close protection for days and that John was lying in the I.C.U. seven miles up the road, it would get even worse. She would start praying and promising God unfeasible amounts of money for the church if they were all kept safe. So Craig lied.
It was a plausible lie, one that his mother would believe and Lucia would think twice about questioning. Only his worldly father would hear the truth behind his words and he would go along with his son’s version of the world to protect them all. Craig composed his face into a suitably official expression.
“OK. The squad has had a call from Dissidents threatening the families of everyone in the team. So, to be on the safe side we’re putting everyone under close protection for a few days. Until we get these Muppets under control.”
“Dissident who? Loyalists or republicans?”
Craig hadn’t anticipated Lucia’s question, so he grabbed for the first word in her list. “Loyalists.”
She gawped at him. “Don’t tell me they’ve started up again as well? Good grief.”
Whether they had or hadn’t was lost as Lucia and Mirella descended into a diatribe about the random elements on both sides of Northern Ireland intent on dragging them all back to the past. Tom Craig gave his son a nod that said ‘nicely done’ and they returned happily to their lunch, while Craig wondered exactly who the next target was going to be.
***
Jenna Graham watched Craig arrive at his parent’s Holywood house with a young woman in tow, then leave an hour later on his own. She scanned the un-marked police car in the driveway and the second one at the back on the house, knowing that the plain-clothed officers inside would be armed to the teeth.
Let them protect Craig’s family; she wished that someone had protected hers. Besides, the odds were against her ever reaching them alive with eight men in her way, and she wasn’t suicidal. She smiled at the irony in her thoughts and started up the car, trailing Craig down Holywood’s narrow High Street and back onto the M3 motorway, taking up position a comfortable three car lengths behind. It was Marc Craig she was after, not his family, just as he was after her. They would just have to see who reached their quarry first.
***
“If Adrian B…Bell was the last victim then this must be the full c…code. Des has just phoned the last six digits t…through.”
Craig squinted down at the paper Davy was holding, trying to make sense of the line of numbers. It was far too long for a National Insurance number and the wrong format for passport or driving licence. Besides, that would have been too simple for a killer this sharp. Davy read his mind.
“W…We’re running it now. It’s too long for lots of s…standard formats, like g…government I.D.s.”
Liam chipped in. “What about court case numbers, hospital numbers, bank codes and that sort of thing?”
Davy shook his long dark hair. “Nope. Again, w…wrong length and format.” He sighed. “I’m trying insurance policy and pension numbers and the rest. The Met’s code-crackers are on it as w…well. We’ll just have to hope that one of us catches a break soon.”
Craig nodded and grabbed a chair. “OK, thanks, Davy. Right. Church bells anyone?”
Annette nodded. “We got all the recordings from the areas you mentioned and the closest sound was a small church in Holywood on Downshire Road. I gave it to Davy a minute ago.”
Craig’s eyes widened. He knew exactly where the church was. He could picture it in his mind: small and made of white stone. The killer had phoned from outside a church less than a mile from his parent’s house! She’d routed the call through Rome knowing that it would set Craig running to protect them, exposing himself in the process. She could have killed him as he’d driven through Holywood if she’d wanted to.
Craig kicked himself for playing straight into her hands. He turned to the group wearing a grim expression.
“We have a very clever killer. She knew that we would trace her call to Rome and that would set me running to protect Lucia and my folks. The church is en-route to their house so she could easily have killed me as I drove past, or got to them before me.”
Jake went to ask a question. He s
topped himself, uncertain what his position was in the team. Craig saw his hesitation and waved him on.
“What happened is history, Jake. Ask your question.”
“Well, it’s… it’s just, if she wants you specifically then she could easily have killed you on your way to your parents or on your way back today. She showed us that she was one step ahead when she made the call and set you running.” He realised what he’d said and tried to back-track. “No offence, sir. I mean, perhaps she didn’t expect us to make the connection with Rome so quickly. And she probably won’t expect us to work out where she called from.”
His voice tailed off and a deep-red blush took its place. Craig smiled and shook his head.
“No, you’re right, Jake. She knew we would trace the call to Rome and she knew I would go running to Holywood. Whether she expected us to work out her position from the church bells I’m not sure. But she’s definitely clever. She could have killed me today if she’d wanted to, but somehow I don’t think that would have been enough of a game for her. She’s playing with me.”
Liam’s voice boomed across the room. “Us, she’s playing with us, boss.”
Craig shook his head. “It’s me or my family she’s hunting now, Liam. With John she was trying to stop the forensic investigation progressing so fast. But she knows we’re getting close to her now and this has got personal. She wants me or someone close to me dead.”
Liam shook his head and repeated himself firmly. “Us. She may not be after us, but if she hunts you then she has to hunt all of us, because you’re not going to be alone until we catch her.”
Annette nodded and Craig waved them both down, smiling. “That’s kind, but you can’t follow me around.”
Annette nodded again, with a determined look on her face. “Yes we can. And we will until we get this bitch under lock and key.”
Craig raised his eyebrows at her choice of words then laughed at the image of him being flanked by body guards for the rest of his life.
“OK. We still have people to interview. Did anyone interview Nelson Warner’s family in Antrim? And what about Victoria Linton’s boyfriend?” He scanned their blank faces. “OK, then get on it please. Davy’s on top of the number codes and Jake’s working up the chat-room names. I’m heading over to the lab to see if Mike has got anything for us on Adrian Bell.”
Liam shook his head firmly. “No you’re not, boss. Sorry. If you leave here then at least one of us has to be with you and Annette and I have interviews to do. I’ll get close protection to bring Mike here when he’s finished Bell’s post-mortem.” He stood up and loomed over Craig, folding his arms. “You’re under house arrest until further notice. One half-dead mate is quite enough.”
Craig sprang to his feet. “I’m in charge here, Liam and I say that I’m going.” The slow movement to their feet of the others said that Liam wasn’t the only opposition Craig had. After a moment’s tense stand-off Craig shrugged, admitting defeat, but only for a couple of hours.
“OK. I’ll humour you for a few hours and stay here. Go and do the interviews then bring Mike back with you. We’ll brief again at five o’clock. But I warn you Liam, you’re not taking over my life. We’re going to catch this woman before she kills anyone else, and if me acting as bait is how we have to do it then you’re not going to get in my way.”
Chapter Sixteen
St Mary’s Hospital.
John yawned and went to stretch his arms then the hole in his back reminded him that it wasn’t such a good idea. He gazed around his small side-room, finally starting to take notice of his surroundings. The last few days in I.C.U. had been a series of beeps and lights, with people tiptoeing around his bed trying not to disturb him, except that their muttered words and accidental clumsiness had disturbed him more than if they’d shouted in his ear. Whoever said hospitals were restful places had obviously never tried to sleep in one.
He was glad to be out of intensive care. There were only so many muted tones and sad expressions that a man could take, without wanting to yell out, “I’m not dead yet!” The colourful curtains and flat screen TV in his side-room were much more to his taste. He’d just reached over for the remote control to see what the ‘Loose Women’ had to say, purely in the name of anthropological research of course, when Natalie burst into the room.
“God, I’m going to kill that I.C.U. sister. I thought you were dead!”
John winced and closed his eyes, in a way that he hoped signified a need for peace. Natalie ignored him and continued with her rant.
“I walked into I.C.U. and there was a road traffic victim in your bed, with his legs up in pulleys! I thought you’d died and they’d taken you to the mortuary.”
John pictured the traffic victim being subjected to the full weight of Natalie’s ire. Poor sod.
“Then that sister, you know, the bolshie one who thinks she runs the place.”
John interjected. “She does run the place.”
“The doctors run the place. She’s only the Maître D. Anyway, then she charges over and tells me off for making noise! Me? Noisy? Am I ever noisy?”
She didn’t wait for his answer, which was just as well. She also ignored the armed policeman who opened the door checking out the noise. He closed it quickly again when he saw Natalie mid-rant.
“And then she tells me that you weren’t actually dead, but transferred down here. I was furious.”
Anyone hearing Natalie’s words would have concluded that she was furious he wasn’t dead. John wondered whether she realised what she’d just said then decided to save it to tease her with another day. He smiled, pleased by her concern, but he stopped smiling when she started to eat the chocolates Craig had bought for him.
John gawped as Natalie chomped her way through all his favourites while she read his hospital notes, just as he would have done. When she lifted the top layer of the chocolates to search for more of her favourites underneath John decided enough was enough. He closed his eyes in mock pain and moaned. It did the trick. Natalie rushed to his side.
“John, are you OK?”
He gave what he hoped looked like a brave smile and raised a weak hand, waving her to a seat. He needed to be brought up to date with what was happening in the outside world and if pity was the only way to get information then pity it would have to be.
“How’s Marc getting on with the case?”
Natalie popped a Turkish delight into her mouth and started to speak and for a moment John pictured her six-feet–six tall and in drag; she could be Liam’s younger sister! He shook the image away and listened as she talked.
“Mike Augustus phoned me. There’s been another suicide that really wasn’t. The man shot—” She stopped abruptly mid-sentence realising what she’d just said and changed tack. “Anyway, I think they’re making progress. You know Marc, if anyone can solve it he can.” Her face brightened. “Guess what? He and Katy had coffee.”
John was still focused on the suicide. He made a note to ask Mike to pay him a visit but thought better of telling Natalie. Instead he feigned interest in Craig’s love life.
“When?”
“The other morning. She came up to the I.C.U. and they bumped into each other and went for coffee.”
“And?”
“And what? She likes him and he likes her but whether they’ll do anything about it God only knows. Those two are worse than teenagers.”
She put the chocolates to one side and folded her hands decisively in her lap, signalling maturity. The smear of orange fondant on her chin didn’t look quite so mature. John decided not to tell her about it. Craig wasn’t the only teenager around.
***
It had been a long time since Liam had spent a whole day interviewing with Annette. Their newly elevated ranks and Jake joining the team had meant they were more often paired with him, as part of his training. But they fell back into their rhythm without missing a step. Liam blunt and sceptical, Annette being the interviewee’s best friend, often gleaning far more in
formation than his forceful approach. They were sarky cop and sweet cop without needing to be coached and Annette said as much as they were driving away from the Antrim home of Nelson Warner’s second family.
“That felt like old times, didn’t it? You offending her and me picking up the pieces.”
Liam guffawed. “Aye. Now all we need is the boss to charm them and we’d have the plot of a Mills and Boon.”
Annette smiled at the truth of his words. “Do you think he knows he’s doing it?”
Liam spotted a gap in the traffic and slipped in easily, ignoring the glare of the driver behind.
“What? Old smoothie Craig? Nah. He hasn’t a clue. He just talks to them like he usually does and they fall at his feet.” He laughed again. “Imagine him when he was young. Strolling off the rugby pitch, thinking about the game and completely missing the girls hurling themselves on the ground.”
“I bet Dr Winter caught them instead.”
They descended into a moment’s banter about Craig and John when they were young, then the words faded away and they drove on in amiable silence. Liam broke it first.
“What did you make of Pamela Anderson back there?”
Annette laughed so hard that she couldn’t speak, picturing the buxom blonde that they’d just left. Warner’s second wife had been the spitting image of Isabella McDonald, his official mistress. In a strange way it was reassuring that Warner had had a type; at least he’d been faithful to something.
When Annette finally caught her breath she volunteered. “I think he picked identical models so that he’d feel at home. A simple man.”
“Aye. I don’t think she had anything to do with his death either. She seemed pretty cut-up.”
“So would I if I’d just lost my meal ticket.”
Liam tutted. “That’s harsh, girl. Maybe she really loved him.”
Annette snorted. “She loved something but I doubt it was Warner’s sparkling personality.”
Liam accelerated onto the M2 motorway as he answered. “Aye, stockbrokers aren’t renowned for that, are they? OK. Strike her off the list then. Who’s next?”
The Coercion Key Page 20
