by Derek Fee
‘What’s with the crowd outside? And he’s not my boy friend.’
‘If you want to continue to work in West Belfast, you’re going to have to get up to date on your Loyalist iconography. That dead woman was once one of the most powerful women in this community. She headed the Shankill branch of the women’s UVF, and she was at the front of every demonstration that took place in the 1970’s and ‘80’s. Her husband, Billy, who is currently in the Royal Victoria Hospital where we are going next, was also a major character in the UVF but even more importantly her son, Sammy, is the current bull goose in this area.’
‘That’s why the crowd?’
‘That’s why the impending evening demonstrations just around the corner will make the fracas about what flag is flying over City Hall look like a church picnic. Get on with the phone calls.’
Moira moved to the front door while Wilson returned to the living room. A forensic technician was photographing the body and the room in general. Professor Reid was standing by the door.
‘No problem with cause of death,’ she said as Wilson joined her.
‘But I want to know what particular blunt object caused it and I want to have a decent idea of what time it happened. Her husband will be no good on time of death. Whoever killed her sent him bye byes. How soon will you have her out of here? I’m a bit nervous about the crowd. The sooner we have these people back in their houses the better.’
She nodded at the photographer. ‘As soon as he’s finished we can bag her and tag her.’
‘And I want those photos on my computer first thing tomorrow morning,’ Wilson saw the photographer toss his eyes towards heaven but decided to ignore him. He turned to Reid. ‘You’ve covered a lot of these cases.’
‘You mean why didn’t I throw up like half the people who’ve seen her?’
Wilson thought of Moira’s reaction. ‘Sort of.’
‘Two years with Doctors without Borders in Goma in Northern Congo can have a very serious effect on your sensibilities. This is pretty basic stuff in comparison to the aftermath of a Mai Mai raid on a village. The first few times I got sick and despaired of the human race. Then I just got down to the work of cataloguing the depravity.’ She turned to the photographer. ‘You finished yet?’
The photographer sighed, packed up his gear and headed toward the door.
‘First thing tomorrow morning on my computer,’ Wilson said as the photographer passed him.
‘We’ll have her shipped to the Royal Victoria,’ Reid said. ‘I’ll try to schedule the autopsy for tomorrow morning, and I’ll get a tech on the job of identifying the blunt object. Don’t send one of your more squeamish colleagues. It could be messy. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d piss off. There’s a lot of bone and brain fragments to collect. I’m sure you have something more useful to do.’
So much for the flirting, Wilson though as he made his way back into the hallway. Maybe Moira should have seen that conversation. On second thought maybe it was better that she hadn’t.
CHAPTER 4
Billy Rice was still in A and E at the Royal Victoria Hospital when Wilson and McElvaney arrived.
A young Pakistani doctor holding a clipboard met them at the entrance to the ward area. ‘Someone sprayed his face with what was probably Mace, but we can’t be sure what the composition was because it has all evaporated. However, Mace would be a good guess considering the state of his eyes. They’ve been burned, but they’ll recover. He was so inebriated when he arrived that we had to put him on a drip. There’s a mark on his head where he received a blow. It wasn’t a heavy blow, and I don’t think it was inflicted purposely. It’s probably the result of a fall. There are two marks on his neck and some localised burning. I would estimate that he was hit with some kind of disabling weapon like a Taser. I’ve seen similar marks in Pakistan.’
‘A Taser, are you sure,’ Wilson asked.
The young doctor nodded.
‘What would the effect of being hit by the Taser be?’ Moira asked.
The doctor looked at Moira. ‘I thought that you people were trained on this stuff.’
‘Humour me,’ Moira said.
‘Different people have different reaction to being Tasered. However, I assure you that it’s definitely uncomfortable. Some people compare it to touching a live electrical outlet except that it’s not localized to the point of contact. It has a more full body effect where muscular control is limited for the duration of the cycle charge. It is normally described as ‘muscle lock up’ because you’re generally unable to move. The whole effect is not about pain but incapacitation in order to keep someone down and away from you. The pain generally goes from mild to moderate depending on the charge from the weapon.’
‘But it’s impossible to obtain a Tazer in Great Britain,’ Moira said.
‘They can be bought in most of the US states,’ the doctor said. ‘You can even go on Youtube and learn to build your own. It doesn’t take a genius to put a few proprietary items together, and you have the added advantage that you can add a bit of zing to the customised weapon.’
‘And was Mister Rice hit with something having a little extra zing?’ Wilson asked.
The doctor thought for a moment. ‘Difficult to say. The fact that he was already heavily intoxicated would not have helped. That and the blow to the head could have kept him out a little longer than normal. I’m sorry, but I can’t be more exact than that.’
‘So what’s his condition?’ Wilson asked.
‘In general, his injuries are fairly light. He should be discharged sometime tomorrow.’
‘Good then there’s no problem in interviewing him,’ Wilson said.
The doctor shook his head and pointed at the last cubicle.
Wilson pulled aside the curtain to the cubicle and ushered Moira inside. The air was redolent with the smell of stale beer and fresh farts. Billy Rice had been in the cubicle only a few hours, but he had already established his own unique environment. Lying on the bed, he resembled something like Ayres Rock. His stomach, which had always been significant, had reached gargantuan proportions since Wilson had seen him last. Two large gauze circles covered his eyes, and a drip had been inserted in his right wrist. There was a plaster on the side of his head.
‘It’s Detective Superintendent Wilson. How are you, Billy?’ Wilson said easing the curtain around the cubicle back into position.
‘Fuck you, how do ye think I am?’ Rice shouted while remaining immobile. ‘Lizzie’s dead. Some bastard caved her head in. That boy doesn’t know what they’ve done. Just wait till Sammy hears.’
‘What happened?’ Wilson asked.
‘Fucked if I know. I was watched the TV, don’t ask me what was on I never take a blind bit of notice of the damn thing. There’s a knock at the door, and I tell them to piss off but they’re not listening. So I get up and open the door. As soon as the door opened the bastard sprayed some shit in my eyes, the pain drove me up the wall. They pushed me back into the living room, and hit me with some electrical gizmo.’
‘So Lizzie wasn’t at home?’
‘Bingo, every Wednesday like clockwork. She normally gets home before ten.’
‘And what time did the doorbell go at?’
Rice thought for a moment, and the effort seemed to tax him. ‘If I’d been payin’ closer attention to the TV I’d have a guess, but I was into the cans.’
‘How many were there?’
‘I have no idea. The minute I opened the door I was hit in the eyes. Then I was electrocuted or something, and everything went blank. It’s the fucking Taigs. Lizzie was a thorn in their side for years. You drag a few Taigs into the station and beat the shit out of them until they squeal. If you don’t Sammy will.’
‘Why didn’t they hurt you, Billy? You were heavily involved yourself.’
‘Hell if I know,’ some tears flowed out of Rice’s right eye.
Wilson wondered if it was the result of the spray or was Rice crying for his dead wife. If he was a betting man
, he would have chosen the spray.
‘So they targeted Lizzie. Any idea why?’
‘Who can tell with the Taigs? Bloody vermin.’
‘Sammy having any business problems these days?’ Wilson asked.
‘My son doesn’t have business problems for too long. He takes care of business problems.’
‘No reason why some of his associates would target Lizzie?’
Billy Rice snorted. ‘Whoever did this is mad or crazy or both. You don’t bash in Lizzie Rice’s skull and make any long-term plans. The word’ll be out on this tomorrow, and the whole of the Shankill will be looking for the bastard. And when he’s found, we won’t be needing the help of the peelers.’
‘We’ll be in touch,’ Wilson said pulling back the curtain and allowing Moira to leave.
‘Piss right off.’
‘Just what we don’t need,’ Wilson said walking along the passageway between the cubicles. A load of idiots trying to ingratiate themselves with Sammy Rice by bringing him the head of some poor unfortunate who had nothing to do with murdering Lizzie. However, Billy is right on one count. Whoever killed Lizzie Rice is one crazy bugger. It was a high-risk murder right in the middle of a staunchly Protestant area of Belfast. It either took amazing guts or more than a little foolhardiness.’
‘What about the method?’ Moira said as they made their way to the car park. ‘Surely if someone wanted to kill her they could have used a knife or a gun.’
‘That’s been bothering me too. Lizzie’s head was smashed to a pulp. The question is why?’
CHAPTER 5
Wilson’s in-head alarm clock woke him at seven thirty exactly. He managed five hours of fitful sleep and had only begun to sleep properly just as his brain told him it was time to get up. He extended his arm to find that he was alone. He left the bed and without showering or dressing headed for the living room. Kate was seated at her desk a cup of steaming coffee within reach of her right hand.
‘How long have you been up?’ he wrapped his arms around her neck.
‘Maybe twenty minutes,’ she tilted her head upwards in an effort to see him.
‘Liar, liar. If you don’t stop, Junior is going to come out thinking lying is okay.’
‘No, I’m serious. This is my first cup of coffee,’ she turned to face him. ‘You were remarkably quiet coming to bed last night. How did it go?’
‘I’d be happy if it turns out to be just Armageddon,’ he pulled her to her feet and kissed her. ‘Works finished for you this morning. Get me a coffee while I take a quick shower, and I’ll fill you in.’
They sat at the breakfast bar directly across from each other while he told her of Lizzie Rice’s murder and the visit to the Royal Victoria.
‘How bad is it?’ she asked when he’d finished.
‘There’ll be people on the street tonight, a couple of cars will be burned, and some police and protesters will be injured. Tomorrow night will be worse and things will escalate until we manage to apprehend someone.’
‘And what are the chances of that?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. I hope we’ll have something from forensics today, but I’m not counting on it. This murder was planned. The killer, or killers, knew when Lizzie was due home. Billy was dispatched to the fairies and the killer waited quietly until Lizzie came home. Then he smashed her head in. It took planning and daring. We’re not going to find whoever did it that easily.’
Kate finished her coffee and stood up. ‘I’m sorry for your trouble but I’ve got a busy day ahead. I’ll be in court until at least four o’clock, and then I have some client meetings. I hope to make it home by eight.’
‘Remember our little talk about cutting back on work, and please try to be home before the riot starts.’
Lizzie had made the front page of the Belfast Chronicle and was the first item on the TV news channels. Sky even managed to get their national crime correspondent to Belfast in time to report on the early-morning news. Wilson could only imagine the level of activity at PSNI HQ. The Chief Constable and his minions would be pissing themselves at the expected fallout.
‘Christ, Boss,’ Detective Constable Harry Graham said as Wilson entered the Murder Squad Room at the station in the heart of the Shankill. ‘Twitter is going crazy. If the idiots who create these social network sites could see the uses that they get put to, maybe they’d have had second thoughts. The riot for to-night is already organised and Sammy hasn’t even appeared on the scene yet.’
‘Tell me something I hadn’t expected,’ Wilson said heading for his office at the end of the room. He closed the glass door and laid a copy of the Chronicle on the desk. The details were sketchy, but the central point was that a major Loyalist figure had been brutally murdered in her home. In these days of sound bites that was all the balaclava wearing rioters would need to know. He stared out at the five members of his team. They were all busy on their computers, but he knew that, in reality, they were all waiting for him to get them into gear. Although he had been promoted to Detective Superintendent for several months, the sign that some wag had erected at the end of the room with the legend ‘KEEP CALM THERE’S A NEW SUPERINTENDENT IN THE HOUSE’ was still in place. He turned on his computer and looked at the list of e-mails. An e-mail from Forensics told him the crime scene photos would not be available until ten o’clock. The autopsy on Lizzie would begin at 10:30 at the Royal Victoria according to an e-mail from Professor Reid and he had a feeling that it meant 10:30 and not 10:31. And there was the frantic e-mail from his boss, Chief Superintendent Spence asking him to brief him as soon as possible since Public Relations had been banging on his door about a press conference later in the day. The forensic report would not be available until some time during the evening. It had been given the express treatment, and if it could be sent earlier, it would be. The last e-mail he opened was from Human Resources reminding him to keep control on the overtime costs. That was a major laugh. He left his office aware of five pairs of eyes following him as he made his way to two whiteboards at the side of the room.
‘Gather round children,’ he said. He picked up a felt pen and wrote ‘Lizzie Rice’ on the top of one of the whiteboards
His team comprising Detective Sergeant Moira McElvaney and Detective Constables Harry Graham, Peter Davidson, Eric Taylor and Ronald McIver made a semi circle with Wilson at the centre.
‘Moira, briefing please.’
Moira pulled out her notebook and gave a succinct briefing of the finding of the body of Lizzie Rice at the Malvern Street house and the interview with Billy Rice.
‘I have no need to remind you that this is probably the highest profile case we’ve ever handled,’ Wilson said when McElvaney finished her briefing. ‘The photos will be on the computer in an hour and the autopsy starts at 10:30. The forensics are promised by this evening.’
‘You want me on the autopsy, Boss?’ Graham asked.
‘Thanks, Harry, but I’ll handle this one myself. I want you to put the hustle on the forensic guys. The sooner we have the results the better. Even something preliminary would be helpful.’ He turned to Davidson. ‘Peter, the house-to-house?’
‘We tried to get something going last night, Boss, but conditions weren’t ideal. I have four uniforms available, and we’ll be doing the streets in the neighbourhood in half an hour.’
‘Eric, Lizzie was at the bingo last night. Check it out and see did anything out of the ordinary happen there.’
Eric Taylor nodded.
‘I don’t have to tell you that we’re all going to feel some pressure on this one.’
‘What about the overtime, Boss?’ Graham asked.
‘More school uniforms to buy, eh Harry,’ Wilson smiled. ‘Although I have no confirmation from above, my guess is that overtime will not be an issue on this case.’
CHAPTER 6
Wilson entered the Royal Victoria Hospital Complex from the Grosvenor Road and made his way to the car park at the rear of the Mortuary Building that was itself l
ocated at the hindmost section of the complex. The red and yellow brick construction of the Mortuary was very much in keeping with the 19th century origins of the ‘Royal’ as it the locals call it. Wilson entered by the portico door and was shown to Autopsy Room No.1, where he found Professor Reid. The corpse that was Lizzie Rice was laid out naked on a stainless steel table with channels all round to direct the flow of fluids.
‘Will you stay here or do you prefer to watch from above?’ Reid nodded towards the viewing area at the end of the room.
‘And good morning to you too, Professor.’
‘Up or down, your choice. But if you decide to stay here I suggest you gown up. I’m not an expert on men’s fashion, but that suit looks like it might have cost more than a few hundred pounds. It’d be a shame to wreck it in the name of justice.’
Reid’s male assistant already held a green set of surgical scrubs in his hand, and Wilson quickly climbed into it.
Reid pulled down the microphone which was located above the table. ‘This is the autopsy of Elizabeth Rice. The subject is a female of approximately fifty-five years. Although the injuries she sustained, which caused her death are to her head, I will begin by examining the internal organs.’ She picked up a scalpel and made a long incision straight down the corpse’s sternum. Then she picked up the rotating saw.
One hour later, Reid pushed up the microphone and moved towards a rack of washbasins in the corner of the room. She removed her surgical hat and gave her blond hair a toss. Then she removed two bloodstained gloves from her hands and tossed them into a bin located beneath the washbasin. She removed the rest of the surgical garb and thoroughly washed her hands.
‘A very professional performance,’ Wilson said dumping his scrubs into a basket.
‘You got the gist I suppose,’ she said.
‘You mean the bit about the tumour in the lungs and the embryonic tumours in the pancreas.’
