by Derek Fee
‘Deputy Chief Constable,’ James Reilly extended his hand to Jennings, who took it and gave it a Masonic handshake. ‘I think that you’ve already met Maggie Cummerford.’
‘No,’ Jennings said. ‘I haven’t had that pleasure. Although, of course, I think I may have read some pieces by her in your paper.’ He extended his hand to Cummerford who took it and shook. He noted that she dropped one of those messenger bags at the side of the table before taking his hand. Jennings was not a great ladies man. He was aware that many people considered him to be a homosexual, and he had done nothing to dissuade them. The truth was as usual somewhat simpler. All of Roy Jennings’ concentration was on attaining the highest post in the PSNI. He considered himself to be sexless, a being without desires for either men or women. When he looked at Cummerford he saw a rather petite, mousy haired woman of average stature. Her face wasn’t particularly attractive, neither was it plain. All the features were there in the right proportions, but none was striking enough to warrant remark. Her figure was boyish with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. She was, all features taken into account, the picture of the modern woman making her way in a man’s world.
Cummerford looked for something to wipe her hand with as she and Reilly took their places at the table. Shaking hands with Jennings left her feeling that she had just handled a three-day-old slimy fish.
‘I thought that we would be dining alone,’ Jennings picked up the menu. He never had any problem with weight other than he seemed incapable of putting flesh on his delicate frame. As a boy he had always been the weed of the class. But he liked to think that what he lacked in physical prowess, he more than made up for in intelligence and cunning. He decided to stick to the Linen Lunch and ordered the Fish Cake.
Reilly and Cummerford also chose from the Linen Lunch menu. ‘Drink?’ Reilly asked. He was used to his lunch guests abusing the expense nature of the meal, but he didn’t think that Jennings was the type.
‘Water,’ Jennings said.
‘Three designer waters,’ Reilly instructed the waiter with a smile.
‘Roy,’ Reilly began when the waiter had departed. ‘I can call you Roy.’
Jennings bridled but was obliged to go with the flow. ‘Of course, James.’ He hoped that Cummerford would have the good sense not to call him ‘Roy’.
‘You may remember several months ago that we were obliged to retract, with an apology, and article regarding an investigation into Chief Inspector Wilson.’
‘Now Superintendent Wilson,’ Cummerford added through a mouthful of bread.
‘Vaguely,’ Jennings said. He remembered it only too well since Wilson used it to turn the tables on him.
The food was delivered, and Reilly began on it immediately. ‘So,’ he said through a mouthful of pork belly. ‘We have a little problem. You see we were not very kind to Maggie since we felt embarrassed that we had to print the retraction etcetera. For the past few months, she has been rehabilitating herself as you might say.’
‘Garden fetes, junior soccer matches, that kind of thing’ Cummerford intoned while screwing up her face.
Jennings played with his food. This was not the kind of lunch that he had anticipated. He wondered when Reilly was going to get to the point.
‘But Maggie is a rather clever girl,’ Reilly said patting Cummerford’s hand. ‘She permitted us to send her to Coventry, as it were, because she had something else in mind, and she was willing to wait for an opportunity to spring back at us.’
Jennings forked a piece of fish cake into his mouth. What the hell had all this drivel got to do with him? Had he been invited to lunch so that Reilly could play footsies with his employee. He hoped that his impatience was showing on his face.
Maggie Cummerford bent and took a small recording device from her messenger bag and placed it on the table. She pressed a button, and the voice of Chief Inspector Harrison could be heard loud and clear. After thirty seconds, she switched the recorder off.
‘It appears Maggie had irrefutable evidence,’ he nodded towards the recorder, ‘that the story she wrote, and we published was, in fact, true. ‘
If Jennings had not already finished eating, he might well have choked on his fish cake.
‘We have reacted,’ Reilly continued. ‘By reinstating Maggie as our crime reporter and there have been some financial repercussions which we do not need to discuss here.’
‘And this affects me how?’ Jennings asked.
‘You lied about the investigation into Wilson,’ Cummerford said quickly.
‘The investigation was unofficial,’ Jennings knew that he was on shaky ground. ‘Since it never existed officially then I was quite right in my statement.’
‘I assume that a freedom of information request will confirm that,’ Cummerford said.
Jennings looked at the young woman. He saw something that he missed in his earlier appraisal of her. It was a streak ruthlessness and ambition. He recognised it because it paralleled his own. His plan to put an end to Wilson’s career via the newspapers had not been bad one, but it was now in tatters. Harrison was a fool to let her record their conversation. ‘I assume that Detective Inspector Harrison told you that the information he gave you was off the record.’
‘It’s not on the tape,’ Cummerford said.
You devious little bitch, Jennings thought. ‘You obviously have something in mind,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you’ll be so good as to let me know what it is.’
‘I want to do a profile on Ian Wilson.’
Jennings mouth curled. He didn’t want Wilson to have any more profile than he already had. He was aware of Wilson’s reputation of being able to charm women out of their pants and he could just see the gushing profile that this young woman would produce. ‘You don’t need me for that.’
‘But I want access all areas. I want to follow him through an investigation and see how he works. The Lizzie Rice investigation is perfect. I need your OK to tag myself along to the Murder Squad team. I want to be embedded in the team.’
‘Out of the question,’ Jennings said.
‘Then I have no choice but to go in another direction,’ Cummerford said. ‘You ruined my career by lying. I have proof that you lied, and I have a legal opinion from the paper’s barrister that I have a case in law.’
Jennings was now on the horns of a dilemma. He had no doubt that this vicious little bitch was as good as her word. He would be exposing himself to some criticism from the Chief Constable if he acceded to her request, but he would end up in an unsavoury court case that might end his career if he didn’t do what she wanted. He concluded that it would be easier to handle the Chief Constable. ‘You cannot be allowed to interfere with the investigation. I will need the original tape, and a paper signed by you attesting that there are no copies.’
‘Understood.’
‘I’ll make the arrangements.’
‘To-day. I don’t want to be behind in the investigation.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll hear from you this afternoon. Now I’ll leave you two boys alone. I’m sure you have lots to talk about.’ She picked up her leather messenger bag and strode out of the restaurant.
‘I’m sorry, Roy,’ Reilly said watching her head disappear through the front door. ‘She had us over a barrel as well. Don’t blame me. Blame that stupid fucker who gave her the interview.’
Jennings had already buried Harrison in the bandit country of South Armagh, but he would have to think whether there was something further he could inflict on the stupid idiot.
‘We’ll just have to grin and bear it,’ Reilly said raising his hand to the waiter. ‘Fuck this water stuff. I need a whiskey.’
Roy Jennings sipped his water. He was not known for either grinning, or bearing it.
CHAPTER 18
The Murder Squad team assembled in front of the whiteboard at two o’clock precisely. Wilson had rarely seen a whiteboard as blank as the one that stared back at him. There was a photo of Lizzie at the top with the indication ‘victim’ and some murder sc
ene photos beneath it. Wilson noted that Moira had created a timeline on Lizzie’s movements prior to the murder on the right-hand side of the board. Aside from that, nothing. ‘Moira, run us through the movements,’ he said
‘Lizzie and her friends have a bingo night every Wednesday. They normally bring a flask of vodka along so it’s a combination of gambling and drinking. You can’t say that you can set your watch by them because it depends on how they’re doing as to how long they stay. This week they did pretty well, or at least they finished up ahead. Lizzie was the big winner with 20 quid. She left the bingo hall at about nine fifteen,’ she indicated the timeline on the board. She stayed outside chatting and smoking for ten minutes or so and then started home on her own. Normally, she might have flagged down a taxi, but obviously she decided to hold on to her winnings. It would have taken her thirty minutes to walk home, so she arrived at approximately ten o’clock.’
‘So it’s a good guess that the killer was watching the bingo hall. He would then have to get ahead of her so that he could disable Billy and be there in time before she arrived,’ Wilson said. ‘Have we checked the bingo hall for CCTV?’
‘Not a sausage,’ Peter Davidson interjected. ‘The hall is on a major junction, so there’s a traffic CCTV which is concentrated on the junction itself. North Street has alleys, and the majority of the business premises are empty and boarded up. The ones that are still operating are more interested in paying their rent than in installing CCTV systems.’
‘Check the traffic CCTV for nine thirty last Wednesday,’ Wilson said. ‘See if you can spot Lizzie and see if you can see someone following her. With a bit of luck, we might get a lead.’ He tried to put more confidence into his voice than he felt. ‘What about the house to house?’
It was Davidson’s turn again. ‘House to house is finished, Boss. We’ve done all the streets in the vicinity and there’s not much point going any further out.’
‘What have we got?’ Wilson asked.
‘Nothing to write home about. I haven’t collated all the sheets from the uniforms but at a guess I’d say we’re goin’ to draw a blank.’
‘That’s not what I wanted to hear,’ Wilson said.
Davidson snorted. ‘This fucker must be some sort of ghost. It’s a tight-knit community, and they’re normally on the look out for strangers. I’m a bit confused that nothing has turned up.’
Wilson pointed to the scene of crime scene photos. ‘The living room looks like a slaughter house. There’s blood and brain all over the place. Please don’t tell me that the murderer didn’t get blood on his clothes. It’s just not possible. So someone walked out of the Rice house covered in blood, and no one noticed him. I don’t buy it. Go back to the streets. Interview everybody again. Somebody must have seen whoever came out of that house. There’s some auld biddy sitting at her window watching who walks up and down. Find her.’
‘You’re living in the past, Boss. The auld biddy that used to sit by the window, now sits in front of a 40 inch colour flat screen TV provided by the Social.’
The other members of the squad laughed and the tension was dissipated somewhat.
Wilson slapped his hand against the whiteboard. ‘We’re under the cosh and the clock here. There are going to be people on the streets to-night and every night until we find who killed Lizzie. Sammy is staying quiet for the moment, but don’t count on it staying that way. I don’t credit Sammy for a high level of emotional intelligence so this mourning that’s going at the moment is only to shore up his support in his enclave. As soon as Lizzie’s in the ground, Sammy is going to be out there competing with us to find the killer. And I don’t want him to succeed where we failed. Ronald, how are you doing on Lizzie’s background.’
Ronald McIver was sitting on the desk closest to the whiteboard. ‘Lizzie was no saint, as I’m sure we’re all aware. Back in the seventies and the eighties she was right in the middle of the ‘Troubles’. She headed up the women’s branch of the Ulster Volunteer Force in the Shankill and by all accounts, she was involved in a lot of unsavoury stuff. She was lifted a total of seven times and questioned about burnings and harassment, but she was never charged. She always produced cast iron alibis. So most of what I’ve managed to put together has come for contacts in the press. I tried a few old contacts in the paramilitaries, but nobody wants to talk about Lizzie except to say that she hasn’t been involved for the past twenty years or so. In terms of people bearing a grudge against her, you could probably fill the Ulster Hall.’
‘It just get’s better and better,’ Wilson said. ‘We need to turn up some leads soon. Which means that you guys are going to have to work your socks off until we develop a definite line of enquiry. So get to it. More interviews, check CCTV, talk to the women who were at bingo with her. Was she nervous? Had she been threatened? Bring me something.’
The group broke up slowly and moved back to their desks wordlessly.
Wilson was aware that he was transmitting the tension that he was feeling to the rest of his team. But that was part of being a team leader. Creating tension could be a bad thing, but it also could be good. It would depend on the person. Moira would put her back into the investigation, and it would be difficult to get her out of the office. She was also intuitive, which made her the best detective on the team. Peter Davidson would go into his shell until something broke. He was seldom the member of the team that sniffed out a lead. But he was a good solid detective in following up. Ronald McIver would continue to pound the computer keys and man the phones. Every team needed a researcher and that fitted Ronald’s character and his fear of the streets perfectly. Harry Graham would plod along making sure that the murder book was kept up to date and ensuring that all the rules and regulations were adhered to. Eric Taylor was the oldest on the team. He knew all the ropes and every copper in every station in Belfast. But he was one year away from retirement, and it was beginning to show. The members of the team had strengths and weaknesses, and it was his job to play to the strengths and minimise the weaknesses. He was hardly five minutes in his office alone when his phone rang. It was an invitation for a second visit to HQ in one day. A second invitation didn’t bode well.
Wilson was ushered directly into the DCC’s office as soon as he arrived at HQ. He was somewhat surprised to find Maggie Cummerford sitting facing DCC Jennings. He remembered Cummerford from her short stint as a crime reporter for the Chronicle, but he hadn’t seen her in some time. Then he remembered the wave at the press conference. ‘I can wait outside,’ Wilson said quickly. ‘Until you’re finished.’
‘This concerns you,’ Jennings said pointing at the second chair in front of his desk.
‘I don’t understand,’ Wilson moved slowly towards the chair and sat with some reluctance.
‘It appears that the Chronicle wishes to write a complimentary article about the PSNI, and it will be centred on the work of the Murder Squad,’ Jennings had his two hands together in a praying manner covering his mouth as he spoke. His voice was strained as though something was caught in his throat.
Wilson looked at Cummerford wondering what the hell was going on. ‘Sir, I am involved in perhaps the most difficult and without doubt the most politically charged murder case of my career. Perhaps it would be more appropriate for the Chronicle to highlight the work of some other section of the Force.’
‘The decision has been made,’ Jennings said sharply. ‘The Editor insists that, given your sporting past and the level of name recognition that you have, you are the optimum candidate to represent the new PSNI. I’m not sure that I share his opinion, but I have been prevailed upon to agree.’ He bridled at the smirk on Cummerford’s face. ‘This young lady will have total access to you and your team during the Lizzie Rice murder investigation. That access concludes when the investigation concludes.’
‘I’m afraid I must press the issue with the Chief Constable,’ Wilson said trying to take in the impact of having a journalist around during an investigation.
‘Pleas
e be my guest. The Chief has already given his approval. He thinks it will show the Force in a good light and to be open and transparent.’
Wilson was loath to give in. ‘Things may be said and done during an investigation that we would not want to reach the public domain.’
Jennings leaned back in his chair. ‘As I understand the brief, the focus is on you as an individual and not on the murder investigation. The article will not concern itself with the investigation or with any of your colleagues.’
Maggie Cummerford nodded when Wilson looked at her.
Something was very wrong here. He remembered that Cummerford had mentioned wanting to do a profile on him some months previously, but he had no idea how she or her editor had managed to convince the Chief Constable that having her follow him around during an investigation was a good idea. ‘I would like to have my objection recorded, and I will need a written confirmation that HQ has insisted on this action.’
‘Done,’ Jennings said simply. ‘Please wait outside. Miss Cummerford will join you shortly, and you can make arrangements. I have given instructions that Miss Cummerford is to be provided with a visitor’s badge.’
Wilson stood and realised that his fists were clenched. If this was another attempt by Jennings to undermine him, it was a damn clumsy one. He turned and made for the door.
