“A quid for them, boss?”
“You tell me.”
It was the sound of a gauntlet being thrown down. Liam was bright but lazy and if he was ever going to make superintendent Craig knew he had to use his brain far more. The D.C.I. took the challenge in the spirit it was intended and perched on a nearby desk, rubbing his hands together as he thought.
“OK. So, you’re thinking that no matter how kinky the sex is no-one bothers with this level of secrecy just for that. After all, what are they likely to get if they’re caught? If the girls are all over eighteen, nobody’s trespassing or hurting anyone, the worst penalty would be a caution. OK, so they’re well known and probably married and they don’t want anything getting out, but their minders would stop things leaking to the press, so that’s not the reason either.” He nodded decisively. “Nope, the reason they’re going to all this trouble to hide the parties is because there’s something more important going on at them than sex.”
Craig smiled. “And it’s the same thing that got Veronica Lewis disappeared and the C.C. called in.” His smile became a frown. “So, what the hell is it? Drugs? Arms? Smuggling-”
The sound of Liam’s stomach rumbling cut his speculation short and made Craig spring to his feet.
“It’ll have to wait for the briefing. OK, Davy, get on that after lunch, please. Liam, give Ash those queries about Regent’s bank account and the fire escape, and everyone over to The James for lunch?”
Carried along in the stampede, Craig was at the exit before he noticed that Nicky was still sitting at her desk, her lips pursed primly as she typed. He walked back wearing a look of contrition.
“I’m sorry, Nicky. You had something that you wanted to tell me when I arrived.”
She tossed her head huffily. “You’re too late. You’ll just have to wait for Kyle now.”
He wheedled his way to her side. “I’ll buy you some of that Devil’s Food cake you love.”
If it was a choice between taking offence and taking chocolate, Nicky was easily bought. She grabbed her handbag and was past Craig in a flash, and during the trip down in the lift she informed her boss that Billy Regent had had a seven-year-old daughter that he’d apparently doted on, making the case for the ex-soldier committing suicide look increasingly thin.
Chapter Six
Whitehall, London. 1 p.m.
The air inside the club’s dark library, stale even in winter, was so stagnant that the dust particles suspended in it had barely moved in the hour that they’d talked, making the visitor wonder if the same molecules had been circulating since the club’s grand opening in eighteen-eighty-eight. His elderly host had the same stagnant appearance, the sheen of his dark wool suit and the patina of his black brogues shouting money, but only of the old sort.
The Fox ran a hand over his own close-cropped hair, suddenly embarrassed by his lack of locks. In England, long hair on men seemed to be a sign of breeding, and a voluntary lack of it seemed somehow déclassé. He’d been given a pass because he was a foreigner, but only just.
The foreigner opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again immediately when his host shook his head and a waiter he hadn’t noticed lifted two tumblers from a tray and set them on their table, before melting away again.
His shiny companion waved him on.
“The woman will give no more trouble. Any qualms she had have been subdued.”
The older man wobbled his Churchillian jowls from side to side. “You should have replaced her completely.”
The Fox demurred. “She holds all the contacts. And besides, the police might have started snooping if she’d disappeared for good.”
A loud tut made him jerk back in his seat.
“Might have? They already are! Bloody plods. That idiot Flanagan gave it to one of his Rottweilers to deal with and now he’s starting to dig. If he links the woman to McManus we’re done.”
His companion rushed to reassure him. “They won’t. The whore’s terrified of us now and she’s been warned to keep the police off our backs. And as far as McManus is concerned, we’ve already got a fall guy for that. A disillusioned ex-soldier with PTSD and surviving on benefits finally cracks, kills the First Minister and then kills himself. It’s all sewn up.”
The host lurched forward, surprising his guest with his vigour. “You’d better be sure, because if it hits the fan we’re not going down with you! And if you’re arrested you won’t be given the chance to spill your guts.”
The Fox swallowed hard, knowing exactly what that meant.
****
Maghera, County Londonderry.
The wood was sparse, and thankfully, after dragging her aching frame for what felt like miles, Veronica Lewis found herself staggering onto a narrow road. Its smooth, tarmacked surface gave her hope: governments rarely maintained roads unless some nearby community needed the access, and where there was a community there were always cars. Within an hour she’d been proved right, the appearance of a small pickup truck with mud-splashed wheels saying that there was a farm somewhere nearby. Thankfully the driver was meandering rather than belting down the rural thoroughfare, and Lewis’ calculated risk of stepping into its centre resulted in him slowing down.
The man yanked on his handbrake and stuck his head out the window, his dark scowl heralding a yell.
“What the hell are you doing? I could have killed you…”
The words tailed off as he took in her bare feet and bloodied face.
He leapt from the truck and rushed towards her.
“My God! Who did this to you?”
The exhausted madam shook her head as the experiences of the previous few days finally caught up. Dropping to her knees on her way to unconsciousness, all she could think about was that she was safe.
****
The C.C.U. 3 p.m.
“OK, grab a coffee and let’s start. John, Des, thanks for joining us.”
Des Marsham smiled cheerfully through a mouthful of cake that had deposited a coating of crumbs on his shaggy beard. While Nicky winced at the sight, thinking that his facial hair needed a good trim, John answered for them both.
“Nice to get out of the lab for a while.” The pathologist gazed around until his eyes alighted on Annette. “I left your other half with Mrs Regent. She was in a bad way.”
Before Annette could answer Kyle did, bristling from the new-found emotions that were still giving him pain.
“Not as bad a way as the seven-year-old she left alone in her flat! I’d have called social services if a neighbour hadn’t appeared.”
John frowned. “Whose child was it?”
“Billy Regent’s. Eileen Regent is her gran.”
Craig had allowed the exchange to run while the room settled, but now they really needed to start.
“We’ll get back to that in a moment. First, Nicky?”
Sated by chocolate cake the PA honoured him with a smile, then rotated the white board by her desk to reveal the words Craig had written there ten minutes before. The detective tapped them with a marker as he spoke.
“Right. We have two cases now. Number one, a personal request from the C.C; the kidnapping of Mrs Veronica Lewis, fifty-one. A fashion designer, beauty consultant and, we believe, a high-level madam, Mrs Lewis hasn’t been seen since Friday. It’s kidnapping because the office where she was thought to have been at the time of her disappearance was turned over, but I’ll come back to that. Our second case is the assassination-”
Liam gave a “Whoa” at the word.
“You object to my description?”
The D.C.I. screwed up his face. “Well…no, I suppose not. It’s accurate enough, but it’s just not a word you hear used every day.”
He was right. Despite the fractious nature of Northern Irish politics, no-one had taken a pot-shot at a local politician since The Troubles had ended with the Good Friday Agreement in nineteen-ninety-eight. The last shooting that bore any similarities to McManus’ had been at Laganside Courts in twenty-fifteen
. That had been a professional hit carried out by a hired gunman, Stevan Mitic, a man that they’d last heard was in the Middle-East being pursued by Interpol.
Craig shrugged off Liam’s objection and continued.
“OK, so, as I was saying, our second case is the assassination of Peter McManus, First Minister of this fair land and a member of the Independent Britain Party-”
Kyle snorted. “Whatever the hell that means.”
Jake smiled. “I think isolationist would be the word.”
Craig shook his head. “I want personal political beliefs kept out of this, is that understood? Whether you voted for McManus or not the man is dead.”
Jake had the grace to look embarrassed, although Craig doubted the expression’s sincerity, but an indifferent shrug said that Kyle’s new-found sensitivity was well and truly buried again. Craig was tempted to pull him on the gesture but they didn’t have the time and continuing his door-to-door duties would subdue the D.I. soon enough.
“OK. Veronica Lewis first. Aidan, what have you found out on her activities?”
The three months out of Vice, although they doubted that Vice was completely out of him, D.C.I. gave an open-mouthed yawn and opened a buff file headed ‘Sex Crimes’ that was resting on his knee. Liam was too far away to stick his finger in Hughes’ mouth so he decided to spoil his run-up in another way.
“We keeping you awake, Wensley?”
It got him the chorus of laughter that he’d craved. Wensleydale had been Hughes’ occasional nick-name since the summer he’d come back from Turkey the colour of honey-roasted peanuts, which with his yellow-blond hair and lanky frame had made him resemble a stick of the cheese.
While Liam mouthed an explanation to the newer members of the team, Hughes gave the comment the contempt it deserved and carried on.
“Right. Veronica Lewis, one son, divorced from Harry Rand, a garage owner she was married to for ten months twenty years ago. Variously known as Veronica Lee, Ronnie Lee-”
“Gypsy Rose Lee.”
It earned Davy a bow from John and a snapped putdown from Craig.
“Everyone’s a bloody wit today! Shut up, all of you, and stop interrupting. You’re not in the pub.”
Hughes moved things along hastily. “OK, anyway, Ronnie Lee started out young. At sixteen she was picked up for soliciting, but let off with a caution. That was the last time she was found out on the streets. She must have gone into a house or a massage parlour after that, because the next time she came to our attention she was thirty-one with a four-year-old son.”
Andy roused himself. “We met him. Rupert.”
Craig nodded. “We’ll come back to that. Go on, Aidan.”
“That time she was picked up working at that brothel out near the airport. Lilith’s, I think it was called. It closed down last year.”
A crimson blush lit up Liam’s pale cheeks. He’d been set up at Lilith’s by his mates during a case once; they’d paid two dominatrices to lock him in a room and taken snaps. Thankfully no-one seemed to have remembered except Craig, but his raised eyebrow said it might only stay private for as long as Liam behaved. Aidan was still reporting.
“Again, Lewis was cautioned, this time under the name Veronica Lee. After that she stayed pretty much off our radar. We knew she was still at it, but it turned out she also had a talent for the rag trade. Put herself through college with her ill-gotten gains and opened a legitimate front: Veronica Lewis Design and Beauty.” He closed the file. “The rest isn’t on paper. I asked around and several of the Vice lads said they’d heard rumours about high-level parties being held out in the sticks. Big name clients, lots of coke and some kinky stuff-”
Craig interrupted. “How kinky?”
Hughes shook his head. “Nothing hard core. Just S&M, Furries, and lots of naked pensioners running through the trees.”
Liam mouthed, “Furries?”, making Craig shake his head.
“Look it up. I don’t have the time to educate you. Aidan, any of those big names known?”
“Not so you’d swear on a stack of bibles, but I did hear that there was a well-known hotelier and a banker on the list. Nigel McArdle and Joseph Bell. Some local politicians as well apparently, but I don’t have their names.”
“Probably because their Stormont advisors had them erased.”
Annette made a face. “Mike and I had dinner at one of McArdle’s hotels a few weeks ago. I’ll never be able to eat there again.”
Craig turned his chair towards Andy and Jake, who were sniggering at something that Andy had just drawn.
“Care to share that with us, Leonardo?”
Before Andy could hide the page, Liam had swooped, seizing a caricature of an overweight banker contorted into a dubious sexual position and waving it around the room. John nodded approvingly.
“You can really draw, Andy.”
The artistic D.C.I. didn’t have the wit not to say “Thanks”.
Craig rolled his eyes, confiscated the art and moved on. “When you pair have finished behaving like adolescents, what did you make of Lewis’ son? Jake?”
Jake stifled the remnants of his grin. “Rupert Lewis, every bit as elegant and privileged as his name might suggest but he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Twenty-four, private school, now at Queen’s studying drama, and appeared to have absolutely no idea about the seedier side of his mother’s life.”
Annette cut in. “I hope you didn’t tell him?”
Jake shot her a scowl. “Give us some credit, for goodness sake.”
Andy joined him in his offence, continuing the report. “The lad seemed to have no idea that his mum was even missing. He said that she often goes away on jaunts for a few days, usually local or down south, but occasionally abroad. Weekends in summer and weekdays in the winter months.”
Aidan nodded. “Which would suit the members of our loyal assembly. During summer recess the MLAs all go back to their constituencies, mostly out in the sticks. In winter, they normally stay in Belfast while the Assembly’s sitting, so midweek parties would suit them better, as long as they were local.”
Andy smirked.
“That’s what we thought. Anyway, we also spoke to two of Lewis’ girls and one of them, Jenny Wasson, gave us more detail. She said the parties are run at different locations across the country, north and south. Pretty grand places as well. The girls never know where they are because they’re blindfolded and driven there, but she described one as having acres of grounds and a marble statue and being about two hours’ drive from east Belfast. Davy was chasing up the description for us.”
As all eyes swivelled towards the analyst he tapped his smart-pad to project an image onto the screen by Nicky’s desk. It was of a huge, broad-fronted Georgian mansion set in what looked like extensive grounds. Another tap and an aerial view of the property was displayed, confirming its acreage, while a third photograph showed a marble ‘rider on horseback’ statue set on a stone veranda that led down a glass slope to a small wood beyond.
Liam’s slow whistle said it for all of them but John added more detail.
“That’s the country seat of the Williamson family! They’re one of the oldest Anglo-Irish families in the country.”
Craig kept his eyes on the screen as he asked Davy more. “Where is it?”
“County Louth. Just over the border in the Republic.”
“And how sure are you that it’s the place Jenny Wasson saw?”
Davy screwed up his face. “I’d like her to look at the photos, but pretty s…sure. There are very few places within that driving distance that have any statues at all, and none with acres of ground except this one.”
He tapped again and the image of a grey-haired man appeared. “Garrett Williamson. Tenth Earl of Louth, and until he lost his seat in February’s election, a TD in theDáil Éireann.”
TD was the abbreviation for Teachta Dála, the Irish equivalent to an MP, just as the Dáil was Ireland’s Houses of Parliament.
Annette said what e
veryone was thinking. “So, the politicians involved aren’t just from the north.”
Craig poured himself a fresh coffee before commenting. “OK, so we have wealthy and influential clients indulging in a spot of God knows what in private homes. But as Liam pointed out previously, none of the girls were underage or being coerced, so why the need to disappear Veronica Lewis unless something else has gone on? Ideas, anyone?”
“Drugs.” “Illegal arms deals.” “Antique smuggling” and “Murder being concealed” hit the air almost simultaneously. Craig allowed the group to speculate for a moment longer then he raised a hand to silence the room.
“Apart from dark political machinations not being mentioned, I can’t disagree with any of those. Lewis knew something incriminating that she shouldn’t have about powerful people, so she had to be taken out.”
He turned the board to its clean side and wrote up the four suggestions plus ‘political deals’ before turning back to the group.
“Right. Aidan, you and Annette follow up on the possibility of someone having been murdered recently and no body being found. Investigate every potentially relevant disappearance: runaways, under-age prostitutes of both sexes, known associates of Veronica Lewis, anyone who could have suffered an accident at one of these parties and disappeared. Go back and speak to Jenny Wasson, and whoever else she can give you, and get anything more that you can, including dates. Take Davy’s photos with you so she can identify the house. Davy and Ash, do a bit more digging on our Earl, and on McArdle and Bell. The Earl must have given permission for his home to be used. Also, check customs and excise and the UK Border Force for possible smuggling.”
Annette shook her head. “Sir, wouldn’t it be better if Jake went with Aidan considering that he’s already met Wasson?”
“Fair point, but you go as well, please. She may tell you something she doesn’t want to tell a man.”
He turned to look for Liam. He was behind Nicky’s desk searching for more cake.
The Cabal (#16 - The Craig Crime Series) Page 10
