by Derek Fee
‘Looks that way, Boss.’ She was wondering what Brendan would make of this.
The policemen handed Wilson a leather bag. ‘One of the builders found this on the stone path. It must have dropped when she was carried here.’
Wilson passed the bag to Moira. She returned to the car where she had left the plastic gloves and evidence bags. He glanced around the area. Not a bad spot for a murder. Not a house in sight and he guessed very light traffic along the laneway. Very little chance of being disturbed and yet a very good chance that the body would be discovered by the arriving builders in the morning. The murderer wanted the body to be discovered quickly. He wasn’t depending on someone out walking the dog and finding it accidently. The question was. Why did the murderer want the body found so quickly or did he just not care about hiding the body?
‘Nancy Morison late of Malvern Street,’ Moira said joining Wilson at the foundation. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary in the bag but I’ve put everything away nice and neat.’
‘Good girl, and I’m being politically correct. OK.’
They both smiled.
‘So Malvern Street again, I think we can assume a definite connection to Lizzie. How old to you think she is?’ Wilson asked.
‘It’s pretty difficult to guess with a concrete block disguising most of her head, but judging from the body and the clothes, I would guess that she’s somewhere between late fifties and early sixties.’
‘Roughly the same age as Lizzie?’
‘More or less.’
‘Bit of a coincidence. Both women’s heads destroyed, both about the same age and both from Malvern Street. Too bloody much of a coincidence. I wonder what these two were up to that they deserved to die this way.’
‘Well there’s no doubt that they certainly pissed someone off in a very bad way.’
‘Let’s talk to the builders,’ Wilson turned and made his way back along the rocky pathway. He marched up to the van and slid the side door open. Three men in overalls sat in the van drinking tea from plastic cups. They looked to be in shock. ‘I’m Detective Superintendent Ian Wilson,’ he held up his warrant card more out of habit than necessity. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant McElvaney. Can you please get out of the van?’ He moved back to allow the three men to alight.
‘I’m Joe Campbell,’ the first man to descend said. ‘And this here’s Jimmy Law and Dick Johnson.’
‘Tell me about this morning when you arrived,’ Wilson said.
‘We come up the lane like we do every morn,’ Campbell was taking on the role as spokesman. ‘We parked the van and got our stuff together, so we did. We had the blocks put around, the foundation yesterday, and we were goin’ to start on the walls today. As soon as we came onto the site we saw the body on the foundation. I never seen the like. Her head was all blood so it was. It right turned my stomach. Then we got on the mobile and called you peelers.’
‘Did you notice anything strange?’
‘Like what?’
‘Anything out of the ordinary.’
‘There’s nothing here, you know. We’re only startin.’
‘I thought that it was normal to put a fence up to limit access to the site.’
Campbell looked around at his colleagues. ‘Aye it is but the main contractor is a mean shite so he is. That’s why we keep our tools in the van. The site is too open, but the mean fucker doesn’t want to spend the money to fence it in.’
Wilson looked at the ground outside the site. The excavation had thrown up a good deal of mud, and a series of tyre track were visible. He turned to Moira. ‘Make sure that forensic get casts of every track. We can easily eliminate the worker’s van and the car.’ He turned to the three men again. ‘If you remember anything, and I mean anything different about this morning I want you to contact me.’ He took some business cards from his pocket and handed one to each of the three men.
‘How soon will the site be open?’ Campbell asked.
‘That depends. We’re waiting for the pathologist and the forensics team. Not today. You guys are on holiday but leave your contact details with the officer holding the clipboard.’
‘No work, no money,’ Campbell said. ‘We don’t take holidays.’
‘I’ll tell them to get a rush on but they’re going to comb every inch of the site. It may take days so if I were you I’d go looking for a fill-in job.’
‘Where have you been lately?’ the man named Law said. ‘There’s a recession on. This is the only job we have at the present. I wish the murderer had chosen another site.’
‘I’m sorry for your trouble,’ Wilson said. A car was pulling up beyond one of the police cars, and it was accompanied by a meat wagon. ‘Looks like the pathologist has arrived.’
‘Be still my beating heart,’ Moira said under her breath.
Wilson looked at her harshly. ‘You’re not funny, Detective Sergeant.’ He saw the blond hair of Professor Stephanie Reid as she stepped out of her car. She strode forward with her blue plastic jumpsuit in hand. She ducked under the crime-scene tape and stepped into her suit.
‘Another client,’ she said as she joined the group at the entrance.
‘You guys can head off,’ Wilson said.
The three bricklayers moved towards their van grumbling as they went.
‘Another elderly lady,’ Moira said. ‘Nancy Morison. Head caved in by a concrete block. Not very pretty.’
‘Understatement,’ Wilson added.
‘Superintendent Wilson,’ Reid said. ‘So pleased to see you again. I better look at the body,’ she strode towards the foundation.
Moira put her fingers down her throat and made a sick motion.
‘I take it you don’t like Professor Reid.’
‘Man-eater,’ Moira said.
While Reid was examining the body, the forensics team arrived and commandeered the site. Two technicians moved forward with a blue plastic tent and erected it directly over the body.
‘The body can be moved as soon as your people are through,’ Reid said stripping the top of her blue suit off and jutting her chest out just enough to display her firm full breasts. ‘I’ll schedule the autopsy for as soon as possible. I assume you’ll attend.
Moira moved off and spoke to the chief of the forensics team.
‘Either me, or DS McElvaney,’ Wilson spoke loud enough so that Moira could hear him.
‘You’re being kept pretty busy,’ Reid said. ‘We’ll have to find time to cram in that drink.’
‘Like I said when the murderer is behind bars.’
‘No rest for the wicked, eh. And I understand you have a reputation for being very wicked.’
‘Totally undeserved,’ he looked over her shoulder.
Moira re-joined them before she could answer. ‘Forensic is in charge, Boss. I passed on the message on the tyre tracks and got a rocket from the head boy. Telling him how to do his job etcetera, etcetera. We ready to roll?’
‘Let’s go see Mr Morison and give him the bad news,’ Wilson turned to Reid. ‘Let us know when you schedule the autopsy.’
‘Looking forward to it,’ Reid said as Wilson and McElvaney made for their car.
CHAPTER 27
Wilson sat pondering the latest murder as Moira piloted their car back into the centre of Belfast. There was no doubt in his mind that the murders of Nancy Morison and Lizzie Rice were the work of the same person. There might now at least be a chink in the investigation since they could concentrate on the connection between the two women. There was now also no doubt that the head injuries were a significant element. The killer also transported Morison to the murder site. They would trawl through the traffic CCTV for the previous evening, and he was sure that they would find the vehicle that had been used as transport. The final element he pondered was the fact that the body had been left where it could be easily found. The murderer could very well have dispatched Morison in some leafy glade and buried the body. It might have taken months or indeed years to discover the murder, but the killer would h
ave known that the building crew would be on site the following day. The killer had more than likely scoped out the site before choosing the killing ground.
They drove directly to Malvern Street and parked outside the Morison house. It was a mirror image of the house in which Lizzie Rice had lived – a red-bricked terraced two up and two down. The only difference was the condition of the building. The front door and the window frames had been recently painted. Billy Rice’s abode looked like a tip.
They rang the bell, and a man in his early sixties opened the door.
‘I’m Superintendent Ian Wilson and this is Detective Sergeant McElvaney,’ they both held out their warrant cards for inspection. ‘I wonder can we come in.’
Morison’s pale face was a picture of confusion, and worry-lines stood out on his forehead like ridges on a plain. He opened the door wide enough for them to enter. ‘That was quick, ‘he said as he closed the door. ‘I’ve just been down to the police station?’
‘And why was that?’ Wilson asked.
Morison closed the front door behind them, and the three of them stood in the small hallway. ‘I thought they sent you from the station,’ he said. ‘My wife, Nancy went to Lizzie Rice’s funeral yesterday but never came home. I phoned around, and folk told me that they saw her at the Black Bear, but since then there hasn’t been hide nor hair of her. I thought she might have stayed with one of her friends, but she would surely have been home by now.’
Without being asked Wilson walked into the living room. ‘Perhaps you’d like to sit down.’
The man sat on a chair and looked up at Wilson.
‘So Nancy Morison is your wife?’ Wilson asked.
‘Aye, I’m Joe Morison,’ the man replied and a tear came out of his eye. ‘Has something’s happened to her. Did she have an accident? Tell me for God’s sake.’
‘I’m afraid your wife is dead,’ Wilson said. ‘She was found murdered on a building site in Dunmurray this morning.’
Morison put his head in his hands and wept his body shaking with every sob. Finally, he stopped and looked up at the two police officers. ‘I told her not to go to the funeral of that terrible woman. I was worried sick when she didn’t come home or call me. That Rice woman is the cause of her death, mark my words. I want to see her.’
Wilson put his hand on Morison’s shoulder. His body was still convulsing. ‘She’s being transferred to the Royal,’ he said. ‘We’ll arrange for you to see her as soon as possible. Has your wife been threatened lately?’
Morison looked up into Wilson’s face. ‘What are you talking about, man. Nancy was just a housewife and a good-hearted woman. She didn’t have an enemy in the world. It was only when she was around that witch Rice that there was a problem.’
‘What do you mean?’ Wilson asked.
‘All that business during the ‘Troubles’,’ Morison took a paper handkerchief from a box on a small coffee table and dried his eyes. ‘Nancy was never political. She didn’t have a bad bone in her body but that Rice woman had some sort of hold over her. She only had to knock on the door and Nancy would be out following her like a stray dog. Why would someone want to kill such a harmless creature?’ Morison put his head in his hands again and started to cry.
Wilson looked around the small room. The Morison didn’t live the high life. The television in the corner was several generations old, but he noticed the satellite box underneath it. Since the husband was still at home, he guessed the couple were on social welfare.
‘So no overt threats then,’ Wilson said when the crying subsided.
‘No. As far as I know she didn’t have a care in the world,’ he blew his nose into the paper handkerchief.
‘She wasn’t still involved?’ Wilson asked.
‘Good God no,’ Morison stood up. ‘She gave up all that stuff years ago. She didn’t attend a meeting or a street demonstration for more than ten years. As soon as the Rice woman gave up the politics, so did she. A quiet woman, no one had a reason to kill her. What will I do now?’ he took a second handkerchief from the box, held it up to his face and cried into it.
‘Do you have any family?’ Wilson asked.
‘Aye,.’ He said through the sobs. ‘Two daughters, but they’re in Vancouver,’ he pointed at the pictures adorning the wall behind Wilson’s back.
Wilson turned and looked at a series of frames containing groups of photos. One showed two young girls photographed together at various ages. ‘Good looking girls,’ he said.
‘Aye, and smart too,’ Morison stopped sobbing and put the paper handkerchief into his pocket. The concentration on his children seemed to divert him. ‘Got out of here as soon as they could and trained to be nurses. Clever girls.’
Wilson moved to a large frame that contained a series of older photos. ‘Do you have a portrait photo of your wife I can borrow?’
Morison went to a small chest of drawers in the corner of the room. He opened the top drawer and began to search inside.
While his back was turned, Wilson removed a photo from the group of old photos. The colours were faded but it showed a crowd of women standing behind a flag of the Ulster Volunteer Force. He slipped the photo into his pocket.
Morison returned from the corner with a six by ten inch photo of his wife’s face. ‘It was taken last year for the girl’s birthdays. Nancy sent them both a copy in a frame. She was always afraid that they’d forget us.’ He handed it reluctantly to Wilson.
‘Don’t worry we’ll make a copy and return the original to you,’ Wilson took the photo and passed it to Moira. ‘Do you have anybody who can come to stay with you?’
‘I have a sister in Carrickfergus.’
‘Why don’t you give DS McElvaney her phone number,’ Wilson said. ‘We’ll arrange for a police liaison officer to visit you and to make sure that your sister is informed. We’ll call you to tell you when you can see her body and make the formal identification. That will probably be later to-day. We’ll need a statement on your wife’s movements yesterday. That can wait as well. Mr Morison we’re very sorry for your trouble, and I can assure you that we’re going to do everything possible to catch the person that did this.’
Joe Morison extended his hand to Wilson. ‘I never thought that Nancy would be the first to go. I’m no good on my own, Superintendent. I can hardly boil an egg. What will I ever do?’
Wilson shook his hand. ‘The liaison officer will help you out with organising the arrangements. She also put you in touch with the social and they’ll make sure that you’re alright.’
‘Thank you, Superintendent,’ he held out his hand to Moira who took it and shook.
‘That clears up one point anyway,’ Wilson said as they settled in the car.
‘Nancy Morison was a camp follower for Lizzie Rice and that’s the reason that she’s headed for the morgue,’ Moira opined.
‘Which begs the question?’
‘How many more camp followers are there?’
CHAPTER 28
The atmosphere at the team briefing was the opposite of the past few days, and that was down totally to the enthusiasm that Wilson now generated. A new photo of Nancy Morison was added to the whiteboard and a line drawn between it and the photo of Lizzie Rice. The forensic photos would be added later, but Moira had already sketched in what they knew about the latest victim.
‘We have several new lines of enquiry,’ Wilson said. ‘We need a timeline on Nancy Morison’s movements yesterday. It appears that she attended the Rice funeral alone and probably hit the bash in the Black Bear afterwards. Peter, you’re on this. Talk to people who were at the Black Bear and see does anyone remember what time she left at and what state was she in. Ronald, check the route she would have used on the way home and see is there any CCTV that we can gather. Check with traffic and see if they have anything. Liaise with Peter so that we can concentrate on the time she was on the road. She was picked up anywhere between the Black Bear and her home. My guess is that the autopsy will show that she was Tasered. We need
to know whether she got into a car willingly or did some guy Tazer her and then drag her in. Did anyone see an older lady being dragged into a car? Was anything reported to the local stations?’ He turned around and pointed at the whiteboard. Beneath the photo of Lizzie Rice, there were the forensic photos, the photo of the Bingo Club and the house in Malvern Street. ‘We lucked out with evidence on the Rice murder, but we have a lot of leads on this one. One thing bothers me. Lizzie was killed in the house where Billy lay comatose. The killer knew that as soon as Billy came round, the body would be found. Nancy Morison was laid out on a house foundation where the bricklayers had already laid out their blocks and were about to begin work. The killer knew that as soon as the brickies arrived this morning the first thing they’d see would be the body. This killer is smart. He didn’t leave a speck of evidence at Malvern Street. He could just as easily have murdered Rice and Morison and hidden their bodies. But he wanted them found. There’s a message there. Lizzie Rice’s son is a major gangland figure. Is someone trying to give him a message? Think about it and if you come up with any answers, I’d be grateful to hear them. I want to see this whiteboard full by tomorrow. Someone is out there murdering Protestant women of a certain age. I want him. Harry and Moira in my office.’
‘Sit,’ Wilson said as soon as Moira and Harry Graham were in his office. He produced the faded photo from his inside pocket and put it on the table. ‘I’ve kept the nicest job for you two. This is a photo of the Shankill Road Branch of the women’s UVF taken some time ago. There are eight women in this photo. In the centre, you’ll notice Lizzie Rice and to her right is Nancy Morison. I want to know who the other six women in this photo are, and I want each of them interviewed. I want to know if they’re aware of any reason why someone would want to murder at least two of their number. I want a motive for these killings so that I can stop them.’
‘OK, Boss,’ Harry Graham said. ‘Finding the identities of the women will be difficult enough. It’ll be harder to get them to spill what they know about Lizzie Rice. You know the scene here, omerta is the rule. Anyone who puts the finger on Lizzie Rice will have to deal with Sammy. Right now, she’s being portrayed as some kind of Loyalist icon. Interfering with that image is going to be very dangerous. Assuming we do get something from them, which I seriously doubt, and there is another planned victim or victims, we have no chance of protecting six people long term.’
