by Derek Fee
‘Jimmy is goin’ to have your guts for garters,’ Davie Best, one of Jimmy McGreary’s lieutenants, was trussed up in the back of a van speeding towards East Belfast. His hands and feet were bound with thick plastic tape. ‘Let me go now and I’ll forget all about it. No harm’s been done.’ He was ignoring the gash in his temple where he had been pistol-whipped. He looked at the man sitting opposite him cradling the Browning Hi Power pistol. The bugger was only just out of short trousers.
‘Shut the fuck up or we’ll do you here,’ the boy with the pistol said. He jumped up and put the pistol against Best’s head. ‘I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains over the back of the van if you open your trap again.’
Best stopped talking and saw that the eyes of the three men in the back of the van with him were dilated. These boys were on something, and he hoped to God it wasn’t crystal meth. What he didn’t need at the moment was a couple of fools who thought they were supermen. The three men continued to fidget while he stayed quiet. Best was an old-timer and as such he knew that his only chance of staying alive was to remain calm. The whole of Belfast had heard the news about Ivan McIlroy and everyone in the ‘life’ fully expected some reaction from Sammy Rice. Jimmy had put everyone on alert, but it was just blind bad luck that this group of junkies had picked on him. He was sure that they didn’t have orders to snuff him. Sammy wouldn’t go that far unless he knew for sure that Jimmy had ordered Ivan’s death. Sooner or later, he would be delivered to Sammy, and he would be able to negotiate his way out.
CHAPTER 44
Wilson pulled into his spot outside the police station. He was not surprised to see the DCC Jennings’ car directly in front of the door. The Desk Sergeant’s index finger pointed upwards as he said, ‘Good morning, Boss.’
‘Aye, good morning it is,’ Wilson replied and made his way to the squad room. DCC Jennings would be in the Spence’s office having an early-morning coffee and undermining Wilson while he was at it. Either he was about to be called upstairs or Jennings and Spence would be joining the nine o’clock briefing. Wilson used all his detecting skills to arrive at the latter alternative. His full team were already at their desks. Wilson said, ‘Good Morning,’ and went directly to his office noting that McIver was back and looking much the worse for wear. He either hadn’t shaved or he was growing a beard. Wilson would put his money on the former. He switched on his computer and opened his e-mails. He had twenty minutes before the briefing. The usual rubbish, he thought as he scanned the thirty of so e-mails that arrived overnight. Only one was marked urgent, and he didn’t instantly recognise the name of the sender. However, he did note that the e-mail had been sent at eleven thirty the previous evening. He clicked the mouse and opened the mail. The message simply read ‘Please contact me urgently re Rice case’. The name at the bottom was George Tunney and beneath it was Senior Scientific Officer, Forensics Service of Northern Ireland. Another one of those guys, who’s been watching too much CSI, Wilson thought. He picked up the phone and dialled the number at the foot of the e-mail. The voicemail was as terse as the e-mail. George Tunney wasn’t at his desk but leave a message, and he would get back as soon as he returned. Wilson left a short message. He started deleting e-mails and had dealt with the majority before he looked at his watch and saw that it was five minutes to nine.
DCC Jennings and Chief Superintendent Donald Spence were resplendent in their green uniforms as they entered the squad room. They both had their hardest faces on so the situation was indeed serious. Neither man spoke to the team but made straight for Wilson’s office.
Jennings pushed open the door. ‘We’ve come for the briefing,’ he announced. ‘You can begin.’ Jennings and Spence positioned themselves in front of the whiteboards.
There were now two separate white boards. One had photographs of Lizzie Rice and Nancy Morison on it while the second had a police photo of Ivan McIlroy on the top with a series of crime scene photos, a short biography of the victim and the basis of a timeline beneath. Wilson’s team stood directly behind Jennings and Spence. Maggie Cummerford had slipped in quietly and sat at the back.
‘Moira has been examining old police records and reports from the seventies and eighties when Lizzie was active,’ he nodded in Moira’s direction.
‘I’m up to nineteen eighty,’ she said. ‘However, the material is so heavily redacted that I might have already missed something.’
‘We’ve linked Lizzie and Nancy Morison to a women’s branch of the UVF,’ Wilson said. ‘For the moment that link appears to be the best area to produce a motive. That’s always assuming that there is a specific motive.’
‘You mean there may possibly be a serial killer out there picking on sixty plus year old women,’ Jennings said.
‘Unlikely,’ Wilson was getting bored contradicting the DCC, and he could see streaks of red on Jennings’ neck. He continued quickly. ‘The two women were involved in paramilitary activity during the ‘Troubles’, and they were both murdered in a similar fashion. I’d guess that Moira might eventually stumble onto something that might have got them both killed. Peter, any news on the missing women in the photo?’
‘I’ve found two more, Boss. One woman moved South ten years ago and the other woman lives in North Belfast. I’ve arranged to go to see her this afternoon.’
‘Anything on the traffic and CCTV, Harry?’
‘We have Nancy Morison on her way home and a yellow Datsun picking her up,’ Graham said. ‘The figure inside the Datsun is wearing a hoodie, so we can’t get a good look at him. We’re looking at the traffic footage now to follow the car to the murder site.’
‘Good,’ Wilson said. ‘We’re making progress. Get whatever footage you can on the car. Try for a registration plate or a clear view of the driver.’ He let his gaze run across his senior officers and his team. ‘You are all now aware that we have a new murder,’ Wilson pointed at the second whiteboard. ‘Ivan McIlroy was found shot dead yesterday in a disused school in East Belfast. He’s up for autopsy this morning, but I can tell you that he was shot twice in the chest at fairly short range.’ He went on to describe the finding of the body and his and Moira’s examination of the crime scene. ‘We’ll have the bullets after the autopsy, and we’ll try some comparison. With luck, we’ll get a hit. So far, we have no idea what McIlroy was doing in the school. The amount of shit and syringes lying around indicates that junkies regularly visited the school. Was he there on drugs-related business? Did he go there to meet someone? Who might that someone be? We need answers to those and any other questions you can come up with.’
‘Perhaps the three murders are connected,’ DCC Jennings interrupted.
‘That’s possible, but unlikely,’ Wilson said. ‘The MOs are so different. I still think that the crushed heads are significant in the Rice and Morison killings. There’s some kind of message there. We just don’t know what it is for the moment. McIlroy was shot in gangland style. However, we’re not excluding any possibility for the moment.’
‘Lizzie Rice was Sammy Rice’s mother, and McIlroy was one of his lieutenants,’ Jennings said. ‘Is that not a good enough connection for you?’
‘Again that might be where the investigation will go,’ Wilson wanted to tell Jennings to stop with the stupid questions, but he opted to play along. It was interesting to see the DCC playing at policeman. ‘We need a motive for all these killings.’
‘A takeover of Rice’s criminal enterprise, perhaps?’ Jennings said.
‘Again, possible but unlikely,’ Wilson said. ‘I had Jimmy McGreary in here yesterday, and I don’t think a takeover was on his agenda.’
‘You don’t think,’ Jennings said with a sneer.
Wilson ignored the remark. ‘The pathologist estimates death occurred the evening before last between eight and ten. We need to know what, if any, connection exists between McIlroy’s murder, and the two women killed earlier this week. We need to develop a full timeline on McIlroy’s movements for the day before last and we need to know who he m
et with in the past few weeks. Was he about to jump ship and go over to another godfather? We need answers to questions.’ Wilson produced a small tape recorder from his pocket and pressed play. The phone message lasted less than twenty seconds and identified the corpse and its location. ‘And we definitely need to know who made this call. The voice is disguised so I’ve already asked for forensics to take a look at it. I’ve also asked for a trace on the number. It’s likely a throwaway SIM but we still have to follow up.’
‘I go back to one of my previous points,’ Jennings said. ‘This looks like a turf war, and it looks like it’s being started by Jimmy McGreary. We need to put pressure on to stop it in its tracks, and that means keeping McGreary out of circulation.’
‘I might be wrong,’ Wilson said. ‘But I believe McGreary when he says he isn’t behind the killings. The Rice and Morison murders show no signs of a paramilitary or gangland style hit. I’m not totally convinced that he’s innocent of the McIlroy killing. We’ll know more to-morrow. I’d like to take advantage of the presence of the DCC and the Chief Super to talk over the resource situation. Two murders had us stretched to the limit. Three pushes us over the top. Since I’m pretty sure McIlroy is a stand-alone crime, there are, in reality, two separate investigations. We should really have two teams.’
‘Out of the question,’ Jennings said. ‘We live in a time when everyone has to do more with less.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I hope that my input into the briefing proves useful’
‘As usual your comments have been pertinent and insightful,’ Wilson said smiling. ‘We’ll be following up on all your suggestions.’
Chief Superintendent Spence’s smile was cut off by a sharp look from Jennings. Wilson turned to his team. ‘Peter, you’re on McIlroy’s timeline. Eric hit the usual McIlroy haunts and find out who he’s been talking to lately. Harry, you’re going to end up with TV eyes because I want you to get whatever CCTV there is around the area of the school. We’ll follow up with Traffic if you hit something. Moira, you’re at the autopsy. Ronald, you take over from Moira on the search through the reports on Loyalist paramilitary activity.’
‘What about asking Military Intelligence if they have anything on Lizzie?’ Moira asked.
‘Try but I can guarantee you’ll get nowhere,’ Wilson said. ‘We’re done. Ronald, in my office.’
‘What about you, Boss?’ Moira said.
‘By the look of things, I’m off to the Forensic Lab. Some genius there sent me an urgent e-mail this morning.’ Wilson glanced towards the rear of the squad room and noticed that Maggie Cummerford was no longer present.
‘You look like shit,’ Wilson said as soon as McIver closed the door of his office. ‘Are you still sick or what?’
McIver moved from foot to foot. ‘No, Boss, I’m alright. It’s just Mary. Things have been difficult lately.’
‘Sit down, man.’
McIver sat on the chair before Wilson’s desk.
‘You look like you haven’t slept in days. I can’t use someone who’s suffering from sleep deprivation. What’s the problem?’
‘The wife’s getting worse. The medics warned that the dementia could accelerate. I don’t know whether I’m up to dealing with it.’
‘Take some time off and go to Social Services. They’ll help you get organised. You don’t have to handle this alone.’
Tears started rolling down McIver’s face and try as he might he couldn’t stop them. Wilson would assume that he was crying for Mary, but in effect, he hadn’t been able to stop crying since the impact of the killing of McIlroy had hit him. How long could he carry the guilt without spitting out the truth?
Oh God, Wilson thought as he watched McIver’s attempts to stem the tears. The man is having a breakdown. McIver was unravelling before his eyes. Right now, he needed his full team, and he was about to lose a valuable asset. ‘Ronald, you have to pull yourself together for Mary’s sake. You don’t have to shoulder the burden yourself. There are people out there who are paid to help in situations like this.’
‘You don’t understand,’ McIver sobbed.
‘I know I don’t and I want to help,’ Wilson said quickly. ‘Take a couple of hours off and sort things out.’ The telephone rang as Wilson was about to dismiss McIver.
‘George Tunney for DS Wilson,’ a deep voice said.
‘Mr Tunney,’ Wilson cupped his hand on the receiver. ‘Let me know how it goes,’ he said to McIver, who was already on his feet.
‘Sorry,’ Wilson said. ‘I had someone in my office. Your e-mail intrigued me.’
‘No problem, I’m George by the way. I did some tests recommended by Professor Reid, and I was wondering whether you’d like to take a look.’
‘Can you send me a report?’
‘I can but I think you should come over here. It’ll only take an hour or so,’
‘Now?’
‘Now would be good.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Ronald McIver went back to his desk. He had to pull himself together. He was a few seconds from blubbing that he killed McIlroy. Only Wilson’s swift intervention stopped him. He was not the first man who had killed another human being in cold blood. But his blood wasn’t cold. He was motivated by fear. The problem was that there was no road back. He could have gone to Wilson and told him that McIlroy was threatening him. That would have been the smart thing to do. Now he was on a road and he would have to stay on it until either he was found out or he escaped. At the moment, he didn’t care. He looked up and saw Moira McElvaney staring at him.
CHAPTER 45
Davie Best lifted his head at the sound from the other end of the warehouse. He was taped to a wooden chair and both sides of his face hurt where Sammy’s boys had laid into him. He wasn’t worried about the pain or the bruises he would carry for the next week. He needed to get himself out alive. Sammy’s goons could be dealt with later.
‘Did you sleep well, Davie boy?’ Sammy Rice asked as he stood directly before the chair.
‘Well enough, Sammy, you know the score,’ he winced when he tried to smile. ‘I’m glad to see you. The idiots you sent to pick me only know how to talk with their fists.’
Rice pulled over a chair and sat down. ‘We’re all a bit upset about Ivan.’
‘Understandable.’
‘I had to identify the body, Davie. Someone planted two rounds in his chest.’ He made his right index finger and thumb into the shape of a gun and pointed at Best. ‘Bang, bang. No way out, dead as a doornail. The questions are why and who?’
‘I can’t say that liked Ivan,’ Best said. ‘We weren’t exactly best mates. During the ‘Troubles’, we organized a few things together. That being said, I would never have hurt him. So why me?’
‘Never say never, Davie boy. This week I lost my mother and my head boy. Some people tell me that it’s a coincidence. Maybe that’s so but maybe someone is tryin’ to give me a message. If that’s the case, I have to respond. That’s where you come in.’
Best looked directly into Rice’s eyes. Sammy had the reputation of being a crazy bastard, but he also was an astute businessman. He didn’t need trouble. ‘Meet with Jimmy,’ Best said. ‘He’ll tell you to your face that he had nothing to do with either your mother or Ivan. He’ll even help you find the bastard who did both of them.’
Rice stared into Best’s eyes. He fancied himself as someone who could tell when a person was lying, and so far he could see no lie in Best’s demeanour. Best was as cool and as a cucumber. ‘You remember that scene in the Godfather when they have the meeting in the restaurant, and the gun gets hidden in the toilet. I don’t think that Jimmy and me should meet right now.’
‘We were all in this together at one time,’ Best said.
‘But we also slaughtered each other from time to time.’
‘They were the hotheads, the psychopaths. You and Jimmy are about makin’ money. Think about it. There’s no real reason why Jimmy would want Ivan out of the way.’
‘Ma
ybe he wanted Ivan to change sides and when he wouldn’t, bang, bang.’
‘It doesn’t gel. Up to now, no harm has been done. You top me, and you’ll start a war.’
‘I top you and I sink you in a bog hole, and no one can prove anything. Then Jimmy starts a war, and the Peelers rip his arse out. How does that sound to you? ‘Rice stood up and moved to the back of the warehouse where four of his men were standing. ‘Food and water for now. Did he have a mobile?’
